


The After Moments

by Datura6082



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 05:58:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 33,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Datura6082/pseuds/Datura6082
Summary: A series of "after moments" for Frank and Karen, snapshots of a life that could be. My first time posting one of these and there's some overlap between the last few episodes of season 1 before taking off into it's own territory - there is some drama and action here but it's more of a glimpse of moments than a linear storyline. Thanks for reading!





	1. Not to be Fucked With

Frank Castle wakes up in a cold sweat. That goddamn nightmare again. Maria.

Always Maria. Always there in his head, dying every night in his dreams. Nothing he can do. 

He sleeps with a gun beside him. It’s not his usual gun. This one only has one bullet. For special occasions. Like the day he wakes up from that nightmare and decides it's the last day. The last time he watches his wife’s head get blown off. The straw that broke the camel's back. 

As his fingertips graze the cold barrel of the gun, he’s wondering if it’s today. It’s a typical thought, but it’s half-hearted at best. Frank hasn’t gotten his revenge yet. The bastards that murdered his family are still out there. He’d be doing them a favor by clocking out early and he's not the kind of guy that does anyone a fucking favor. Besides that, there are people he'd be letting down. But this, this is one of Frank's weaknesses - one he barely admits to himself, and certainly not to anyone else.

He pulls himself upright, eyes refocusing under the shitty flickering fluorescent lights of Lieberman’s bat cave. When he could smell, when his nose wasn’t broken or full of blood, it smelled like rust. Which to be honest, smelled pretty much like blood to Frank anyway. He shrugs on a long sleeved shirt, covering the sickly purple and green bruises on his body. Nothing could be done about the face though, except avoid looking in mirrors. The stitched up gash in the back of his arm was already starting to burn. 

“Maybe you should take it easy today...Lay low?” Micro, or David Lieberman, suggests lightly. To think, the guy had been so squeamish when they first met and now he was practically Frank’s seamstress. He manages to crack a half smile, as much as his swollen face will allow and zips up his boots. 

“Gotta see a friend.” 

He’s walking out and he can swear he hears David muttering under his breath, “With friends like yours...” 

No shit. 

Billy Russo. His buddy Billy. That knife in the gut was still twisting inside of him. Fuckin’ traitor. Bastard sold his soul for a pretty suit and a chance to play grab ass with the elites of New York. Sold him out. Sold his family out.

The thoughts were crowding into his head, he was seeing red and he wanted to scream - rage - at someone, something. Anything to take his mind off it. 

Frank knows that David is probably staring at his computer screens right now, waiting for him to show up at his wife’s house. He was either about to be very disappointed or very relieved. Frank didn’t care which. 

Sarah was a nice woman but...

She wasn’t Maria. 

And she wasn’t...

There are flowers in the window. She kept them. Maria haunted his nights, but someone else had been haunting his days. Someone else with those ocean blue eyes and that hair that shone like sunlight. Jesus Christ, Frank, get a fucking grip on yourself. 

He had told David that she was like family. The significance hadn’t escaped him, and he still puzzled over those words and that singular need to protect her at all cost. And in the end, what did he really know about Karen Page? She had been through hell and back for him, and he barely knew anything about her. 

He drew in a deep breath, trying to swallow that little bit of guilt that was gnawing at him, his lungs aching from the cold air. 

He had ditched his mission of personal revenge and risked everything to make sure that Karen Page was safe. 

He was still standing outside, beneath her window, staring at those roses when he saw a flash of pale gold pass by the window. 

She was home. Of course she was, they wouldn't let her go into the office after everything that had happened. 

His body and mind warred viciously with each other for a split second before he found his feet making their way into her apartment building and up the stairs. Damn elevator was out of order. Good. Frank was having a hard time thinking about elevators lately. 

He stopped just short of her door. 

Don't do it, asshole. Don’t do it. 

His fist clenches and he’s knocking, lightly. Goddamnit, Frank. 

Metal scraping from the inside. She's fumbling with the locks, her fingers moving quickly. Jesus Christ, did she even check the fucking peephole? 

Crystalline blue eyes take in the sight of him and she's yanking him through the door, flinging her arms up around his neck. He’s frozen, too stunned to react for once in his life. 

“Thank god you're okay!” She’s saying, but it sounds a million miles away. He’s lost in that spicy vanilla aroma she’s wearing and how soft her hair feels against his battered face. She's sniffling a little and he feels bad he didn't make his way here sooner. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine,” He tells her, trying to crack a smile. “Never better.” And he means it. In this moment, it’s the best he’s felt since before...

He stops the thought. Doesn't let the darkness touch this moment. Karen Page is pure sunlight, not to be sullied. 

“You don’t look fine.” She says, taking a step back. “You look like shit.” 

“You’re all heart, Page.”

He grins at her and feels the tightening pain in his face from the bruising. You look beautiful, is on the tip of his tongue and he bites it back. The thought makes his chest ache and he feels like he’s betrayed his wife’s memory. 

The thought doesn’t last, Karen’s grabbed his arm and dragged his ass over to the kitchen table where she yanks out a chair and plunks him down in it. She possessed unusual strength for such a wisp of a woman. 

“I’m making coffee. You’re having some.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Much appreciated.” He pulls off his hat and runs a hand through his hair, skimming the stitches on the side of his head and wincing. 

“Shit, Frank. You really look like a Halloween mask. Tor Johnson’s got nothing on you.” 

“Yeah? I could make a profit off that...” 

She sets the mug down in front of him and he skips the cream and sugar. It’s hot and strong, that nice dark motor oil flavor he prefers. She loads hers up with a fancy creamer, turning it a milky golden brown. 

There’s a brusque knock at the door. 

He tenses. 

“Probably just the pizza guy.” 

“It’s not even 9 am.” He gives her a skeptical look.

“Breakfast of the champions.” She gives him a sheepish smile and he snorts. Karen Page, dainty little thing. He always figured her for a fruit and danish kind of girl. Not living like a fratboy. 

As she opens the door, he can hear the sound of metal clicking. It’s not the locks on her door. 

He’s on his feet in an instant. Shorter than him but well outfitted and stocky, the guy leads Karen back into her apartment with his hand around her neck and his gun pointed at her head. Another one, taller this time, trails behind him. Both of them masked. 

“Anvil, huh?” 

“Pretty stupid of you to be out on the streets so soon after having your face plastered all over the news.” 

“Mr. Russo sends his regards...” The second one says with a nod, raising his gun. 

Frank’s thinking a little quicker though. He pulls a knife from the block on the kitchen island counter and sends it flying into the taller guy’s neck, giving Karen the distraction needed to slip away from her captor. Frank grabs ahold of her just as she pulls her .380 from her purse and they launch behind the counter as the Anvil grunt begins firing. There’s a sound of exploding china and from the way she squares her shoulders and sets her jaw, Frank can tell she’s more than a little pissed about her dishes being broken. 

If they make it out, he thinks he’ll buy her a new set.

He’s got his gun in hand as he crouches low behind the counter, Karen quickly mimicking his stance. Frank takes a brief second to admire her with pride, she’s constantly impressing him. In an instant they open fire on their attacker, as he takes two shots to the chest, one to the shoulder and the last one in the head. He drops to the floor by his friend, who is still alive but pouring blood out across the kitchen floor. 

Frank slips out from their hiding spot and finishes off the second guy. 

“What the hell was that?” She asks, lowering her gun and clicking the safety on. She’s calm and collected but Frank doesn't miss the way her hands are trembling, belying her 

“Billy Russo’s guys.” 

“The head of a military contracting company is sending assassins after you now?” 

“We go way back. He was family, but he’s turned traitor. You’re not going to be safe now until I end this.” He’s lifting the masks off of the dead men, trying to see if it’s anyone else he knows. The faces don’t set off any recognition and he starts checking them. Body cameras, tracking devices, cell phones, weapons. He was going to have to clean this up for her. 

“We’re going to have make this look like a regular break in.” 

“How am I going to explain two different bullet types to the cops?” 

He hands over his gun. 

“You tell them you got this off one of those guys after you elbowed him in the gut to get away. Your gun ran out of bullets -” He takes out the extras, “and you used his to finish the job. Obviously they were just burglars, nothing more.” 

He takes a step back, avoiding the pooling blood on the floor - it wouldn’t do to leave any bootprints and surveys the kitchen. There are sirens in the distance. The one fucking time the cops in Hell’s Kitchen decide to be Johnny-on-the-Spot. Karen looks shaken, nodding along to everything he tells her. 

The coffee mugs were shattered, so he doesn’t have to worry about wiping his prints. Good.

“Hey, Karen, are you with me?” He takes hold of her arms and tries to get her to focus. He was so stupid for coming here. Fucking idiot. “Karen, I’m sorry. This is on me, I shouldn’t have come...” 

She smiles at him. 

“I just murdered two guys in your kitchen and you're smiling.” 

“Actually, I killed the second one.” She says, raising her chin in defiance. Was she really arguing over who got the kill?

Karen Page was not to be fucked with. 

“We’ll dig the bullets out later and compare. You should look for a different apartment as soon as possible.” 

He’s heading to the fire escape.

“Frank, wait.” She stops him. She crosses the room, fast, and grabs hold of his shirt collar as he’s halfway out the window. Her lips press hard to his, warm and trembling and Frank almost loses his fucking balance from surprise. He wraps one arm around her, pulling her closer, his tongue tasting her lips and the remnants of that sweet coffee she had been drinking. 

There are footsteps in the stairwell. He releases her, reluctantly, and she flashes him a shy but calculating smile. Next time, there would be more, it promises. 

“I’ll be watching.” He says, and she nods. He takes off up the fire escape to the roof where he can slip away, unnoticed by the police. 

Frank pulls his hat down over his eyes and tugs his coat collar up to better hide his face. His stomach rumbles. Pizza never sounded so fucking good as it did right then. He circles back to the front of the building just in time to see a kid with a box making his way past the cop cars with indifference. 

“Hey! You taking that to Karen Page?” 

The kid gives him a once over and decides he’s just another weirdo. “Yeah, why?” 

He slips a ten in the kid’s hand, and steals a slice from the box. “Tell her Pete needed one for the road. Breakfast of the champions.” 

He’s slipping down a back alley before the kid can yell at him and wolfing down a bite of the pizza, his mouth trying to suck in the cold New York air to cool the molten lava cheese burning his tongue. Pizza, coffee, and Karen on his lips.

Fucking amazing.


	2. Petty Revenge

Lieberman’s at his computer in the bunker, as always. Bathrobe and boxer shorts, as always. The sooner they finished this, the better. The guy made Frank feel like he was actually on top of his hygiene game. His eyes dart nervously back and forth between Frank and the numerous screens surrounding him. They're all talking at once and Frank just wants some goddamn silence.

“So, the police scanners are saying there were shots fired at an apartment complex in Hell’s Kitchen. The private channels are talking about two dead guys in a reporter’s apartment. You know anything about that?” 

“Not a clue.” Frank says innocently, cramming the last of the stuffed crust pizza in his mouth. 

“Well you weren't at my home...” 

“I was getting a slice.” He says, his mouth full. 

“...And you didn’t bring any back for me.” 

“Sorry buddy, wasn’t thinking. I’ll getchya one next time.” On the other hand, maybe not. The asshole hadn’t made him a sandwich for the trip out to Gunner’s cabin. Or even offered to share.

“Uh huh.” 

David’s suspicious. He knows damn well that Frank was involved in the shooting. And he knows it has everything to do with Karen Page. But he hasn’t seen the guy in such a good mood in, well...Ever. So he drops it. Wisely. 

Frank steps into the kitchen, starting up the coffee maker. David raises an eyebrow. Frank is...Humming? What the hell was happening here? 

Unfortunately for David, the humming continues. Unfortunately for David, Frank can’t carry a tune in a fucking bucket. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to recognize the song. 

A hot mug of coffee is set down next to his keyboard and Frank claps him on the shoulder. He looks a little too pleased with himself and David holds back a heavy sigh. Probably revenge for not making him that sandwich. Nobody held a grudge like Frank. 

“Here, try this.” 

It looks like black sludge in the cup. 

“Thanks, Frank.” 

When Frank steps off to the bathroom, David pours about half a bottle of creamer into his coffee cup to kill the taste and shakes his head. 

At least he wasn't visiting Sarah. 

David knows his jealousy is irrational. He knows it and he can’t help it. Frank is...Well, underneath the bruises there’s a huge muscle-bound military guy with a decent face and that dark, tragic backstory that chicks always fell for. David couldn’t compete with that. His insecurities were eating away at him, even as he played it off. 

It wasn’t even about Frank. 

He had never once stopped to consider that Sarah could move on, start dating, fall for some other guy before this was all over. He was a fucking idiot. And how could he go back then? And how could he handle some other man sleeping in his bed, raising his kids? He never expected to be playing dead for this long. 

If Sarah knew he was alive, maybe she would wait for him. But he was dead to her and she was a free woman. A woman with needs and a hole in her heart that he wasn't around to fill. 

Sometimes he couldn’t help but take his fear, his frustration and his feelings of being powerless out on Frank in the form of jealousy. Frank wasn’t the threat to his marriage, he never had been. Frank didn’t have space for Sarah Lieberman in his life - not when his mind and heart seemed to be at war. One side trying desperately to hold onto Maria and be true to her memory, the other side hopelessly drawn to Karen Page like a moth to a flame.

David drags a hand across his face, closing his eyes to the screens in front of him. His eyes were burning. He had to focus on the mission. Focus on finishing this as quickly as possible and getting his family back. A year was already too long to be gone. And what if it was too late? What if they couldn't forgive this? How could he even ask them to? 

David would never voice his fears aloud, but he was worried about...Well, about everything. Frank had blown his own cover, nearly gotten himself blown up, risked everything just to save Karen Page. Could David really count on him? At the rate they were going, he wondered if he would be dead and buried a second time before he was ever exonerated. 

The day passes slowly, David working his computer hacker magic while Frank sleeps. His sleep is calm, not fitful. David is still suspicious, still worried. 

When the sun goes down, Frank wakes up. His boots are already on. He's leaving again.


	3. Stake Out

Foggy Nelson has upgraded his living quarters since last time Frank had met him. Karen’s curled up on one side of the couch, legs long and silky in a borrowed pair of boxers and an oversized shirt. 

Thank god she didn’t go to Murdock’s. Frank’s jaw clenches involuntarily. He doesn’t notice that he hasn’t thought about Maria since early that morning. He doesn’t notice that he hates the thought of Karen Page turning to the Daredevil for protection. And if he does, he's not dwelling on it. 

What Frank does think of is the way her lips felt pressed against his - soft and hesitant. Her tongue meeting his. Her body pressed against him and the way she always looks in those damn pencil skirts. Although, from his distant view on the rooftop, he’s admiring the boxer shorts look. 

They’re enjoying beers and takeout and Frank wishes he was down there, preferably without Foggy Nelson, enjoying a good night in with good food. But he can’t relax tonight. He’s been doing sweeps for about two hours, making sure Billy hasn't sent anymore Anvil fuckers after Karen. 

He had pitched all their tech into the river that morning, right after he left Karen’s apartment. And right after he left a special message for his old friend into the live feed. 

He was going to end this shit with Rawlins and Billy. For himself, for Maria, for his kids, for Lieberman, and for Karen. 

It's hours later, camped out on the rooftop that he asks himself what the fuck he's doing. Guilt, it creeps up on you and eats away at you until you want to rip your own hair out and scream. 

He had a wife. He was married. He had kids. He loved them. He had...

He had lost them all and the unending grief and rage had nearly killed him. It had made him a monster. It had twisted him, reshaped him into something Maria would be terrified of. Something that would make his kids scream. His brutal rampage had never been entirely for Maria and his children. A lot of it had been for him. He thirsted for blood, he lusted for revenge. He knew that his family would never, ever have wanted him to turn to this sort of darkness. 

If his family could see him now, he’s sure they’d start running in the other direction. And he wouldn’t blame them. 

He was called The Punisher. What a fucking joke - he was just punishing himself. He had failed them all in the worst way possible. He never felt loss until that day at the carousel and it was all his own fucking fault. 

He was terrifying. Barely even human, bloodthirsty. Frank had no right...No right to feel things anymore. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the memory of rose petal velvet lips pressing hungrily against his. He didn't deserve to think of her, with her long legs and her translucent blue eyes that practically glowed in the dark, the way she smiled at him and kept coming back even when he was screaming at her to stay away. 

And what did she think? What did Karen Page think of him? She had seen. She had seen the horror, the gore, the blood, the twisting darkness that suffocated him and wrapped it’s sticky black tendrils around everyone that associated with him. How could he let her be a part of that? How could he want it for her? How could she want it for herself? 

Either she was incredibly stupid, or...

Why doesn't she run? Why would she kiss him like that? Was she insane? Was he insane for enjoying it so much? For wanting more? 

Frank didn't have another answer. What kind of woman would it take to see good in him? She’d have to be insane. There was no good left in him. The best parts of him had had their faces blown off on a bright summer day. Karen Page had gotten fed up with his bullshit and dragged that last little piece of humanity he had buried away, kicking and screaming, out into the daylight. She had stripped him down, disarmed him, and forced her way into his life. Into his memories. Past her fear, her terror, Frank found a strong woman with a mind that moved so fast he could barely comprehend it. A woman who understood him.

What kind of woman could do that? Especially one so fragile looking. Especially someone so fucking pure and bright. What the hell could she possibly want with something so...

He’d ruin her life. Frank knew it without a doubt. It was only a matter of time, if today had shown him anything. Only a matter of time before she wound up dead in his arms and...

The image tore through him, slamming into his mind like a truck. Visceral. Gut-wrenching. Real. Real because it would happen if he kept hanging around. 

Real because even after all of it, he still didn’t want to let go of her. Couldn't make himself stay away from her. 

That terrified him.


	4. Demons

There’s too much to say, not enough time. It’s always the wrong fucking place and the wrong fucking time. This is the story of Frank's life.

When she pressed her forehead to his in that elevator, and later pressed her lips to his as he was climbing out the window, he wanted to weep. He wants and he wants and he can’t fucking have any of it. And he's so fucking selfish.

His traitorous heart beat wildly in his chest when she touched him and he started to wonder when he let this happen. When Karen Page became so important that he’d diverge from his ultimate goal to make sure she lived?

Because Frank held her sacrosanct above all else. She wanted him to have an _after_. An _after_ wouldn't mean shit to Frank Castle if there was no Karen Page in this world. 

The simple answer is that he has to see her again, one last time before he makes his final stand against the fuckers that annihilated his family. It’s almost poetic, he thinks. One last look at the one thing he can't have. 

The floor of her new place is covered in boxes, she’s barely unpacked. He still owes her a new set of dishes. And he’s on the fire escape again.

 _‘Like some fuckin’ creep,’_ he thinks to himself before he knocks on the window. She jumps, startled, but she's smiling at him and it’s like he’s the only person in the world she wanted to see and...

And he feels like he just won the fucking lotto. And somehow, that makes everything he's about to do so much worse.

She lets him in. Even after all the bullshit, and how many other times has she almost been killed because of him? She lets him in. 

Karen’s pressing her mouth to his again and he’s kissing her back even though his mind is screaming at him, calling him a piece of shit, a traitor, a fucking bastard. And when, god when, did this become so normal? It’s only the second time but she pulls him to her like it’s her god-given right and...

There’s nothing he can deny her. 

“Frank, what’s wrong?” She asks when they reluctantly pull away. He wonders what gave him away.

“It’s just uh...This next part, it’s gonna get messy. And I don't know if I’ll be coming back.” 

She takes a half step back, putting too much distance between them. She stares him down until he breaks eye contact first. She already knows where this is headed. 

“Don’t know, or don't want to? What is this really, Frank? A suicide mission? Do you want to die?” 

He thought he did. He’s not so sure, hasn’t been so sure since she kissed him. He wasn't ready for her rapid-fire line of questioning, straight to the point.

Her eyes are filling with tears and she’s looking at him like she’s trying to memorize his face. 

“Why would you do this, Frank? Why would you give up like this? There’s so much left...”

She's clutching, wrapping her arms around herself, doubling over like he just put a bullet through her chest. He reaches out, fumbling to catch her and pull her in. Her hand flies out and she slams her hand against his chest with a strength he never expected from her. She's angry, all fire, eyes flashing at him. He’s hurt her now, the last thing he ever wanted to do. Exactly like he knew he would do.

It’s all his fault. 

“Karen, I-”

“No! Fuck you, Frank! You giving up on me? You're just going to _quit_ after all that’s happened? Just lie down and die? _You’re a fucking coward_ , Castle!” 

He can’t speak. He can't tell her that it was always the plan, that he’s scared of living, that he’s scared of having a life without his revenge. Instead he holds her even tighter, and sits her down on the sofa. She’s broken, sobbing openly. He has no idea how to comfort her. 

He never thought anyone would shed tears over his death. He never thought it would be Karen Page, of all people. Since when had he become worth the worry?

“I never thought I’d see the end of this, you know? I mean, after the gangs were taken care of it still didn't feel finished. I walked away and I was alive but I was a dead man walking. I don't know where I’ll be at the end of this, I can’t promise you that I’ll make it back and if I do, who will I be then? What’s waiting for me after this?”

She looks up at him, and he could drown in those eyes. 

“You’ll still be Frank Castle and I’ll still be here waiting for you.” 

“I want that, sweetheart. I do. So fuckin’ bad it kills. You have no idea...” He breaks off, and looks away, looks anywhere else. “But I’ll still be Frank Castle and I can’t...I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you because of me.” 

“I’m in danger with or without you in my life, Frank. Because of my job, because of Matt, because of my shit luck. Why do you think this is all up to you to decide? Why do you get to choose?” 

“Because it's my goddamn responsibility to keep you safe!” Why doesn’t she get it? 

“So keep me safe, Frank! Promise you’ll come back. Promise you’ll stay. I won’t be safe if you're dead. Not ever.” 

“It’s bloody, it’s messy with me, yeah? You deserve better than this shitstorm, Karen. You deserve everything I can't give you.” 

“It’s bloody with me too, Castle. I've killed before. I murdered one of Wilson Fisk’s men. I shot him seven times because it was him or me. Look at me, Frank - I’ve seen it, seen your blood and mess and I’m still here. _I’m not scared._ ”

Fucking hell. How did he not know that? She’s not lying to him either, not trying to placate him. She really means this, really wants him to come back. 

“Karen-” It’s one final, desperate plea. One last attempt to get her to see reason. To see how bad he is for her. To see how fucked up this is.

“It’s not your call, Frank.” She silences him. “You’re coming back, Castle. Not for you, for me.”

He shakes his head. He knows he’s done for. He knows it’s not going to be the last time they have this fight. As long as he has breath in his lungs, he’ll swim through a lake of blood and bodies to get back to her. 

He’ll come back to keep trying to convince her, she’ll keep smashing through his defenses like they’re nothing. It’s a fight for another night... _After_.


	5. Aftershock

It’s too hard to go back to her... _after_. He wants to. Oh, he fucking wants to. He’s drawn to her like moth to a flame. He passes by her new place almost nightly, making sure she’s okay. He doesn’t know how to go to her. Doesn’t know where to begin. He’s a man of violence, afraid of the quiet. Afraid of peace. Afraid of after. 

Afraid of the way that he remembers soft golden hair and that flash of smile while he was nearly dead. Somewhere between the blackouts with Maria and the pain of being awake while Rawlins beat him to a pulp, he kept catching glimpses of Karen. Just a flash of her somewhere behind Rawlins left shoulder, or a whiff of her perfume before his nose became too full of blood to smell anything. The distant clacking of her heels, somewhere far off and then a quiet whisper in his ear-

“I want there to be an after. For you.”

He doesn’t let too much time pass before he lets her know he’s alive. He owes her that much, at the very least. He leaves a white rose on the fire escape outside her window, where he knows she’ll find it. He’s seen her out there more than once, looking out over the city for something. 

Sometimes he thinks she's looking for him. 

Sometimes he thinks it’s Murdock and there’s a tight feeling in his chest. 

_The guys in group, they told him he should visit. He dropped the topic after that, didn’t mention Karen again. But he could tell by the way Curtis kept eyeing him at the sessions. And even though Frank made it a point to be first man out the door, Curtis still found time to corner Frank and confront him._

_“It’s okay to live again, Frank.”_

_“What do you think I’m doing?”_

_“Avoiding. Hiding. Like you always do.” Curtis gives him that slow, cheeky grin. “There ain't no shame in having feelings.”_

_Frank wants to leave. Avoid. Hide. Just like Curt said._

_“Maria would want you to move on with your life.”_

_“How do you know what Maria would want, huh?” He’s angry, defensive now. He’s a wild animal, backed into a corner and he hates it. Curt moves in for the kill._

_“If things were reversed and you were the one dead, wouldn’t you have wanted her to find happiness again? Would you be okay with her spending the rest of her life consumed by grief and rage?”_

_Frank’s always been a man who couldn't move on, couldn’t let go of the past. But Curtis’s words hit home. Of course he wouldn’t want that for his wife. Nobody would fucking want that for their loved one._

_“Look, I’m not saying you have to forget Maria or get remarried. But there’s a nice girl over in Hell’s Kitchen who is just waiting for you to take her out for some coffee. Quit being such a pussy.”_

She’s on the fire escape again, looking out into the dark. He’s two levels up above her, where an empty apartment provides him with a nice perch and no disruptions. 

She’s got something in her hand. She lays a single white rose down on the steps and climbs back into her window, leaving it cracked. 

Frank’s moving down the metal steps before he knows it, all notions of stealth forgotten. She’s not looking for Murdock. She’s not looking for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

He slides the window up and slips into her living room. There’s a fire going, and two glasses of wine set out. Frank feels like he just walked into a trap. 

“You got my message. That was fast.” She smirks at him. She’s on the sofa, in another pair of boxers with an old college shirt on. Those alluringly long legs are tucked to the side and he follows the trail all the way from her thighs to her lovely, delicate feet. 

He swallows hard. 

“Are you going to come in or did I break out the good wine for nothing?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Boots off, Castle.” She orders and he grins. She’s bossy tonight. He likes it. 

He kicks his boots off and drops them across the room by the front door. He knew whatever happened tonight, he’d be leaving out the front door like an ordinary guy. He takes a seat on the couch beside her and hands her the glass of wine. 

“I should've stopped by sooner.” 

“You had a lot going on.” Understatement of the fucking year, Page. He takes a swig of wine from his glass, enjoying the taste. He was a beer drinker, but his family had raised him with an appreciation for good wine. He admired a woman who knew her pizza and her wine. 

“I stole it from Foggy.” She says before he can ask. “After a few weeks of sleeping on his couch while I looked for a new apartment, I figured I deserved it.” 

“Thought you two were friends.” 

“We are. But Marci...” Karen trails off. There are no words to describe Foggy’s girlfriend. She shudders and takes another sip of her hard won wine. “She’s exhausting.” 

Considering Frank had gotten a few glimpses of the busty bleached blonde in her five inch stilettos while he was protecting Karen, he had a feeling he knew what she meant. Women like that...

“Nelson's in over his head. She’s gonna eat him alive.” 

“Probably. Serves him right.” 

There’s a comfortable silence between them. 

“Frank, how did you get here so fast?” 

“I uh, I was on the escape two floors above you. I was thinking about dropping in. I've seen you out there a few times, I thought you were waiting for...” 

“Matt?” She asks hesitantly.

Frank hates the sound of the other man’s name on her lips. 

“Yeah. Or some other vigilante I don’t know about.” He says, trying to crack a joke. 

“Just you, Frank. You know that.” 

There it is again. Sometimes, she can be so fucking blunt it’s like being punched in the gut. And he does know that - unbelievable, he _knows_ it. She made him a promise, after all. 

His fingers trail down her soft, shapely legs and he hesitates. A line has been drawn and he’s not sure he should cross it. No going back from this, no retreat. 

He takes hold of her ankle and slides her easily underneath him as his body covers hers. His mouth is on hers in seconds, hot and demanding. He’s been waiting for days, weeks, maybe months to do this. She’s kissing him back with equal fervor, her hands on his chest and moving lower, fumbling for the hem of his shirt. 

She finds what she’s looking for when she dips one hand beneath the waistband of his pants, cool fingertips grazing his burning skin - her hand wrapping around his already hard cock. 

“You’re killing me, Page.” He whispers against her mouth and she moans and grips him tighter as he bucks into her hand. “I was trying to take it slow.” 

“Frank, you never do anything slow.” 

He chuckles, his mouth nipping at her throat and delicate collarbones and he can’t believe what he's about to say. “I meant, take you out on a few dates before we...” 

It sounded so normal, so natural. 

Miss Page had other ideas.

“Don’t make me wait any longer, Castle.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He says again, covering her mouth with his once more. Rough hands skate over her ribs and down lower to her hips. He lifts her easily off the couch, her legs wrapping around his waist. 

Her bedroom is the only part of the apartment that’s almost fully assembled. Frank notices enough to avoid tripping over a box of shoes as they both break for air, gasping, before their mouths find each other again in the dark room. She’s pulling hard at his shirt and he helps her slide it off over his head. 

Karen topples them both over onto the bed, pinning Frank beneath her as she straddles him. She leans down for another long, lingering kiss before she yanks her own shirt off and tosses it. Frank vaguely hears it hit a ceiling fan blade before it falls to the floor in a soft puddle. 

Her skin is cream and silk, just like he had imagined. A strange contrast to his own scarred flesh and he slows down, trailing fingertips over the soft curve of her waist to take in the sensation. She unclasps her bra from the front, a roll of her shoulders and it’s gone - on the floor with the rest. Frank wastes no time capturing one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue working its way in slow, sensuous circles around her nipple. 

Her head falls back, eyes closed. Frank’s mouth moves to her other breast, taking his time, torturing her in his slowness. He's in no rush. 

Karen Page has other ideas and she's tearing at his belt buckle, her fingers working quickly to release the clasp and practically tear open the button and fly on his jeans. His jeans slide down over his hips and he’s wondering when the hell she had time to get those shorts off herself. 

Her teeth are nipping at the flesh between his neck and shoulder and he’s holding her back, his fingers digging into her soft hips. It’s a silent battle for control but Karen’s determined to win. Her hips move sinuously against his, and Frank utters a groan, his hand trailing down the curve of her spine. 

She’s won. 

He drives himself home inside of her, letting her take charge. Karen pushes him back against the pillows, pinning his hands to the bed. Her mouth is hot and heavy against his and when she grinds against him...

“Fuck...” He hisses. Sweet agony. 

She spurs him onward, too fast, too soon, taking everything from him. Frank growls in frustration as he pours himself inside of her, his breath coming in pants as he realizes she wanted to watch him get off. 

Karen gives him a satisfied, victorious grin. 

Two can play that game, Frank thinks as he flips her over onto the bed. He was far from done.


	6. Routine

He spends more time at her place than he does at his own. And that’s okay with him. He doesn’t necessarily mind being Pete Castiglione but he likes the time spent with Karen, when he can still be Frank Castle. The good and the bad, she accepts all of it. 

There are nights when he comes back late, in the early hours of the morning. He cleans up silently in the bathroom, doing his best not to wake her before he slides under the warm bedsheets. She always knows though. Always closes that distance between them, wrapping him gently in her arms - mindful of any new bruises or cuts. 

Frank's family may have been avenged, but The Punisher’s bloodlust would never be sated. Karen doesn’t ask him to stop, because deep down Karen Page doesn’t want him to stop. The Punisher is necessary.

He buries his face in the soft cloud of her hair and breathes in her scent, coming back to her slowly; one moment at a time. This is how Castle disarms himself. 

The mornings after are always a companionable silence. Shared coffee, maybe a quiet “rough night?”, followed by a “got the job done though”, and a long kiss. 

He's always careful. Karen hasn’t had to find a new apartment since. She’s not particularly worried though. She’s never felt so safe. 

Half the time she works from home, telling Ellison she’s got an interview with a ‘source’ and slipping out the door before he can reprimand her for being gone again. And it’s not completely a lie, she does have a confidential informant. Ellison can’t dispute the facts, she has the best intel on all the crime happening in Hell’s Kitchen these days. 

Frank grins as she straddles him on the couch. She hadn’t even bothered to take those 4 inch pumps off. 

“Is this what passes for investigative journalism these days, Miss Page?”

“Quid pro quo, Castle.” 

He can’t argue with that. His fingers are making quick work of the buttons on her blouse. The pencil skirt has hitched up considerably, showing off thigh highs and garters that make his mouth run dry. 

Quid pro quo, indeed. He did what he did and after, he came home to the best thing he’d had in a long time.


	7. Some Nights, Other Nights

She watches over him some nights when he's sleeping. He’s still haunted. She never asks about the nightmares though, she knows he won't talk about it. And what is there to ask about? She knows exactly what he’s seeing. 

The thrashing doesn’t scare her. Sometimes he yells. Sometimes he flinches. She tries to soothe him as best as she can; carefully, ever so carefully because he’s a dangerous man even when he's asleep. Sometimes, especially when he's asleep. 

It’s better to let him work through the night terrors. She stays put, exactly where he needs her to be when he snaps out of it. She talks to him quietly, in the dark. Runs her hand through his hair, gently. It gets easier as time passes. He responds, reacts more to her presence the longer they spend together. Like taming a wild animal. 

“One batch, two batch. Penny and dime.” He mutters feverishly, his skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight as he thrashes. The sheets wrap around him, tangling, choking. Karen keeps a blanket stashed under the bed for nights like these. 

“Lisa!” He howls, bolting upright in bed. His eyes are open, flicking back and forth across the room, looking at horrors she can’t see. 

“Lisa...” He says again, his voice cracking with sorrow. His chest heaves, and he lets out a sigh. A shudder rolls through him. He’s awake now. 

She places a tentative hand on his shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly. Other nights he called for Maria, called for Frank Jr...

The nights when he called out Billy Russo’s name were the worst. Grief she could handle, rage was a different animal.

He turns to look at her, tears in both their eyes now. His face is crumpled, he’s broken open before her. Vulnerable.

She wants to tell him it's okay, that it's just a dream. But she can’t. Because it’s not okay, never will be okay, and it wasn’t just a dream. 

She slides behind him, leaning him back to rest against her chest. Tears and sweat mingle and stain her shirt. She doesn’t mind. She’s running her fingers through his damp hair.

There are no words tonight. 

Just the sound of her heart beating in his ears. 

But on other nights...

_She’s in the diner, underneath the table. She’s holding tight to the cold metal with both hands. The waitress and the cook are gone, they escaped out the back door. Karen stays behind. She can’t leave him like this._

_There’s fighting outside; clattering, crashing, and thick wet sounds. The sound of a shiv sliding in and out of skin, over and over, again and again, neatly. Effortlessly._

_She’s terrified. Scared shitless. Not for herself. She’s scared because impossibly, improbably, she doesn’t know if Frank Castle is alive when the silence finally overwhelms her._

_When it’s over, he's still standing. Blood dripping from his mouth in the darkness. He won’t look at her. Won’t even meet her eyes._

_“Frank...” She whispers._

_He tells her to call the cops. And then he takes her heart in both hands and breaks it._

_“Stay away from me.”_

_She blinks, pain coursing through her and she’s outside. In the woods. There’s a cabin and he’s dragging The Blacksmith to it. She’s screaming at him to stop. Begging him, pleading. She knows he won't stop. She knows, she knows and she still throws the ultimatum in his face anyway._

_She knows he won't choose her. He’ll take revenge every time. Can’t stop until it’s finished._

_She screams again, rages at him. Tells him she’s done._

_They both know she’s bluffing. He slams the door shut in her face._

_“I’m already dead.”_

_Hours before that, when she thought he was really and truly dead. When she missed him. Missed a cold blooded killer and thought herself wicked for thinking that way._

She wakes up with a gasp. His hand is on her back, massaging, moving upwards to her neck. He sifts his fingers through her hair. 

“Just a dream. I’m here, okay? Just a bad dream.” 

“The restaurant. Schoonover.” She says. “You told me to stay away from you.” 

“I’m an asshole.” 

“Yeah,” She sniffs, managing a little laugh. “You are.” 

She's shivering under the blankets. He pulls her in close. He's warm enough for the both of them.

“We kept fucking it all up, didn’t we?” 

He laughs, a little bitter. “It’s what I do best.” 

His fingertips trail softly up and down her arm. 

“No, no it’s not.” Karen whispers.

Somehow though, they kept finding their way back to each other. No matter what decisions they made, no matter how many times they had cast one another out for good, their paths kept crossing. 

“I saw you, in that restaurant. Some guy dropped his spoon and you flinched. I hated it, hated myself. Seeing you so scared, I knew it was my fault. All of it was on me.” 

He takes a deep breath, her hand small and cold on his chest. 

“I killed those guys, no problem. Thought that would fix it. I didn't want you to be afraid anymore. But that wasn’t it. I saw it, all over your face. Wasn’t the end of it. It was me. I was the monster. I didn’t want you to be afraid of me. Be looking over your shoulder because of me.” 

“It wasn’t you.” She tells him, trying to fight to explain everything because there was _so much_. “I hated that you made me question _everything_ I thought I knew about right and wrong. I hated that I kept trying to see everything in black and white, see you as a monster, because you challenged all my beliefs. I only felt safe when I was with you. I didn’t know how to come to terms with that at the time. You brought my demons out, exposed them, made me confront them, made me see that I was...”

“An asshole?” He smirks at her.

“Yeah. And a hypocrite.” 

“I knew you weren't done with me.” 

There’s a laugh in the quiet apartment.

“Fuck off, Castle.”


	8. Hell Hath No Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I will be posting more as soon as I possibly can - I have quite a few of these already written up it's just a matter of putting them on here.

He thinks he's taking the high road. Thinks he’s ‘doing the right thing’. 

“So you're just going to leave then?”

“I can’t keep you safe and do what I do. And I...I can't stop, either.” It's an argument they’ve already had, though it had never gone this far before.

“I’m not asking you to stop, Frank. I’m not asking you to keep me safe. I can take care of myself.” Karen says, her face flushed as she worries her lower lip. She’s angry, but more than that she’s hurt. Wounded. And how many times does she have to relive this conversation with every man in her life? Do not cry, she tells herself sternly. It’s not working.

“Yeah? What are you asking for, then?”

“I’m asking you to stay! Stop running. Stop being so fucking afraid that I’m gonna get hurt!” 

“You're not gonna get hurt. You’re gonna get killed, Karen. And I can’t have your blood on my hands, your death on my conscience.” His voice is gruff, and he’s keeping his poker face on. Frank’s not going to admit that this is somehow killing him, that it’s going against every fiber of his being. He wants more than anything to stay with her. To stay for as long as she’d have him. 

“Take care, Karen.” 

He picks up his duffel bag and walks out, closing her door gently behind him. He tells himself that this is the last time, that he won’t be back. He’ll find a way to let go and let her live her life the way she should. 

He thinks if he gives her time, he’ll check in on her one day and find her someplace else - a house maybe, with a husband, and a kid on the way. His throat is tight with emotion and he's blinded, his eyes blurry as he makes his way to the elevator. 

“Fuck...” He whispers to himself, hoisting the bag over his shoulder, letting the strap bite into his skin. Focus on that, Frankie. Don’t think about how you just ruined the best thing you've had in a long time. 

Pete Castiglione’s apartment is on the other end of town, cold and dark with no furniture. There’s a cot with a thin blanket draped over it and enough artillery to start a war. Frank had just lost his war without even firing a shot. 

She doesn't call. She doesn't text. She doesn't leave roses in her window. 

He knows because he still spends his spare time checking up on her, like always. Old habits die hard. He can’t stand the thought of something happening to her when he’s not there to protect her. 

Karen spends her time at work, putting in long hours late into the night after everyone else has left for home. She might as well sleep there. But she always packs up her purse and coat and stumbles out of the building, her feet numb and her legs shaky. She's had a few drinks at her desk but she always makes her way to Josie’s for last call before going back to the dreaded apartment. 

She thinks about moving to a different one, but it’s off season and she can’t find a cheap enough one-bedroom with a decent landlord. Everything in her apartment reminds her of him. His scent lingers on her bedsheets and she finds bits and pieces of him all over the place. A shirt in the hamper, shaving cream in the bathroom, a gun in the desk drawer. He’s everywhere. 

Karen throws herself into her work, chasing down a story about a new club drug that’s leaving a trail of bodies in its wake. She’s writing about the drug, warning people about it, getting stories from the family members of the victims and trying to pin it to the man behind it all - a rich asshole from an old money family with no regard to the lives he’s ruined. She needs this. She needs the victory. 

Unbeknownst to Karen, Frank is mirroring her movements. For every article she writes, he tracks down the distributors and delivers his own brand of justice. They work in tandem, Frank keeping himself behind the scenes. 

Days blend into weeks like that for Frank but it doesn't last long. There’s a knock at his door. Quick and purposeful, followed by a paper slipped under his door. Silence. 

Karen’s address is written carefully on the page in calligraphy. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Frank feels his breath catch, like someone has knocked the wind out of him. He’s moving quickly, throwing on a shirt and zipping up his boots. No time for anything else. 

There’s a new burner phone waiting on the kitchen table when he gets to her apartment. He turns it on and Karen is set as the background image. Karen unconscious and bloody. Tied to a chair. 

‘Call me’ Says the post-it note on the table. There’s one saved contact in the phone. Someone is playing games with him. 

“This better be a fucking joke.” He growls into the phone when they answer. He’s having a hard time thinking beyond the blood pounding in his ears, the room spinning before him. He can feel that old familiar rage beginning to build up again. 

An amused laugh meets his ears. Fancy. Cultured. Some rich prick in a suit. Frank grips the phone tightly in his hand. 

“I can assure you Mr. Castle, it is not.” 

“What do you want.” It’s not a question.

“You’ve cost me several good employees and quite a bit of time and money, Mr. Castle. I want to put an end to your involvement in my affairs, permanently.”

“Karen has no part in this.” His eyes are scanning out the living room window, looking for anyone that might be watching this high up. 

“Quite the contrary. Her articles aren't doing me any favors, Frank - may I call you Frank? - but I’m willing to overlook that if I get what I want tonight.” 

“I want to talk to her.”

“I don't think so. If it’s any consolation, please know she’s unharmed.” The man replies and Frank grits his teeth. “I have a lot of friends here with me tonight, Frank. Friends with a lot of guns who all would dearly love to see you die. However, I am aware that you are something of a cockroach - hard to kill. I’m keeping Ms. Page as an insurance policy. She’ll go free, but only if _I get what I want_.”

Frank doesn’t bother to ask. He knows. They want him dead, they want their money back and they want Karen Page's silence. They won’t get either one, if he can help it.

“Where.” 

“I’ll text you the address. I’d say come unarmed but we both know that won’t happen, don’t we Frank?” 

Frank doesn’t answer. Like hell is he going in without his guns. 

“I wouldn’t waste time calling the cops, either. Ms. Page is very beautiful and my men are getting bored with waiting.”

“Fuck you! Don't you fucking touch her! I’m going to fucking kill every last one of you motherfuckers when I find you!” He shouts into the phone, his fist slamming through the wall of her small kitchen. This was what the man had wanted. He wanted The Punisher, not Frank Castle. Frank was going to make him regret it before the night was out.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” 

The prick hangs up and a text message appears on the screen. Frank commits the address and time to memory before he snaps the phone in half, crushing the battery and the sim card under his boot heel. 

Fuckers. 

The bed’s not made, still messed up from last night or the last time she slept there. He tries to focus on what needs to be done. He gets a dusty bag out from the back of the closet and tries not to think about how she called his name the last time they were together. He needs a clear head, now more than ever. 

He tosses the bag down on the living room couch and tries not to think about how she had pushed him down on the bed, practically tearing his shirt off in her haste the first time they were together. Tries not to think about how he fucking left her and how all of this was his own damn fault.

They were all gonna fucking pay. They had dared to touch what was his. He rips his vest out of the bag, the white skull glaring at him in the daylight. The Punisher was out for blood.


	9. No Damsels Here

The duct tape holding her wrists is tight, she's tried working at it a few times to see if she could loosen it, but it’s not budging. She’s in a warehouse. God, she was tired of ending up in shitty warehouses. 

“You’re awake! Splendid!” 

That voice...

James Calloway, old money, philanthropist, head of a multi-billion dollar corporation with hundreds of subsidiaries and suspected drug lord with mob ties. And obviously a fucking idiot. 

“What do you want?” She’s more angry than scared. 

“Sully, didn't we just have this conversation a little while ago?” Calloway asks his lackey, a touch of amusement coloring his voice. He steps into the light, looking too pristine for this dirty warehouse. 

“Miss Page, you have a friend who has been causing a considerable amount of trouble for me and my work. We are here because that friend has left me no options, and you are my only bargaining piece.” 

“Buddy, you have no idea what kind of shit you just stepped in.” She sneers at him. “You’ll all be dead before the end of the night.” 

She almost pities them. They have no idea what’s coming. 

“Miss Page, my men are not the Kitchen Irish or the Dogs of Hell, or any other group of petty thugs. This building is surrounded by highly trained professionals and Mr. Castle is very aware of what will happen to you if he doesn’t surrender.” 

“It’s your funeral, you prick.” Her confidence is unnerving. She never wavers and Mr. Calloway finds himself starting to doubt. He clears his throat, about to speak but Miss Page silences him once more. “The Punisher is the very definition of a highly trained professional. You’re fucked.”

“We’ll see.” The lackey answers for him.

The gunshots have started outside, faint pop-pop-pops in the night but drawing closer. 

“You were saying?” She says smugly, raising an eyebrow at the man. 

He grabs Karen by the arm, hauling her roughly out of the metal folding chair and up the stairs to the landing. She can see an exit door at the top and wonders if he has a helicopter waiting on the roof of this shithole. 

She sees his plan for what it is: ill-conceived and utterly naive. He’s going to use her as a human shield so he can make his getaway if it all fails. And it will fail, spectacularly. 

The arrogance. This man clearly thought he was immortal, untouchable.

It feels like forever. Her heart is racing as they listen to the gunfire outside. He’s coming, he’s coming...

She doesn’t notice the gun pressing into her temple. Her eyes are on the front door, barely blinking. Frank likes to make an entrance and she wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

The door bursts open as if on cue. Two men are thrown backwards into the building, and one of them is on fire. 

In the center of it all is Frank Castle. The Punisher. The white skull shines in the darkness and his trenchcoat swings behind him as he fires two shots, one in each man’s head. 

It’s the first time in weeks that she's seen him - _really_ seen him, not just ghosts of him. There’s a fresh cut on his cheekbone, the blood mixing with the grit on his face. She can see where a black eye is forming. Frank never had any problem getting bloody. 

“Frank...” She whispers, briefly forgetting about the men behind her. He makes his way forward, his jaw set hard. She’s reminded of that day in the courtroom. He had been in full chains but that did nothing to take away the dangerous look in his eyes. Predator hunting prey, he was gunning for Calloway now like he had been for District Attorney Reyes. Like he had for the Blacksmith.

He makes eye contact with her and she sinks into those brown depths, her body relaxing, finding the humanity in him there.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, kicking a body out of the way. She nods, the gun digging into her flesh. 

“Mr. Castle, if you come any closer I am going to put a hole in Miss Page’s head. Are we clear?” 

“Crystal.” He growls. 

“Lower your weapon.” Calloway’s man, Sully calls out. His gun is pointed at Frank. 

Karen has other plans. Almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head at Frank. The heel of her stiletto slams down into the top of Calloway’s foot and the man’s body jerks, his finger hitting the trigger as he stumbles back. She barely feels the bullet graze across her collarbone but from the corner of her eye, she can see that Frank has taken out the other man. 

She follows up the stomp with an elbow to the ribs as Calloway tries to grab her again, firing another wild shot. Pain rips through her shoulder and she starts to go down. Calloway is firing directly at Frank now, but he only manages two shots before Karen is on the ground and The Punisher has a clear shot. 

“One shot, one kill.” Frank mutters, pulling the trigger. The bullet tears into his skull, blood and brain matter raining down on Karen. 

She closes her eyes to it, ignoring the gore - still hot and wet and thick on her skin and focuses on the kiss of the metal grated floor against her cheek. 

“Hey, hey sweetheart. I’m here, I’m here okay? Yeah...” Frank’s lifting her to her feet, wiping her face, wrapping an arm around her waist and helping her down the stairs. 

“Took you long enough, Castle.” She’s wincing at the pain, but she’s never been happier to see him.

“Sorry, I got held up in traffic.” He grins at her, blood leaking from a split lip. “Shit Karen, you couldn’t have just played damsel? You wouldn’t have been hit...”

“No damsels here, Frank.” He props her up in the doorway and grabs two buckets of gasoline. 

“Back in a minute, you wait here. Yeah?” 

He presses his forehead to hers and she nods, holding her injured arm close as he disappears back into the building. In the time it takes to close her eyes, she’s being shook awake by Frank.

“Page, hey Page...You with me? C’mon, stay with me.” 

He flicks the lit match behind them and swings her up off the ground into his arms, taking off at a run. Karen's fading in and out, her adrenaline is gone - all that's left is exhaustion and the feel of his arms around her. Frank finally sets her down in the backseat of the stolen car as gently as he can and jumps behind the wheel, the car tires spinning as he punches the gas. 

They’re far enough away that she can hear Frank cackling over the sound of the explosion and the ringing in her ears.

Easiest job he’s ever done.


	10. The Devil You Know...

The bad news is that the bullet is still stuck in her shoulder. The good news is she has a bottle of vodka. The other bad news is that Frank isn’t letting her drink all of it. 

Pouring alcohol over an open wound is fucking painful. Karen’s teeth sink into the rolled up towel Frank has pressed against her lips, her good hand gripping his hip while he works.. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Frank says low, focusing on the task at hand. He’s holding a pair of forceps. “It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.” 

He’s right about that. 

She screams as the metal digs into her flesh, searching deep for the bullet. The towel doesn’t do much to muffle it. 

“Almost...Got it! Fucking got it!” He presses a bloody hand to her forehead to calm her, to calm himself. He drops the bullet and forceps into the kitchen sink with a clang. When he turns back to Karen he can see she's blacked out. 

It’s for the best. He works better when she’s not looking at him like that, like he’s hurting her and she trusts him enough to let him do it. He’s never been so nervous digging out a bullet before.

He finishes, cauterizing it quickly and stitching her up. He wanted to take her to a doctor but she fought him hard on it. So fucking stubborn. The best he can do is keep her up on painkillers and antibiotics to take care of the inevitable infection. Home surgery at its finest. 

He runs a finger over the damaged skin by her collarbone, where the second bullet had grazed her. Luckiest miss he’s ever seen. Doesn't even need stitches. Those fucking shoes of hers must’ve done a number on that guy’s instep. He snorts to himself and washes up the tools in the sink. 

When he’s finished, he lifts her from the kitchen counter and carries her to their bed, not missing the flash of telltale red on the fire escape. He lifts the covers over her, careful not to jostle her shoulder.

“Just fuckin’ perfect.” He mutters to himself with a long sigh. Time to face the devil. Frank squares his shoulders.

He jams the living room window up and hoists himself out onto the fire escape. He's not fond of how much traffic this thing gets but he really only has himself to blame for that. He’s anticipating the hit, even though it reopens his freshly sealing cuts from earlier that night. 

“Nice to see you too, Red.” He flashes a cheeky grin at the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“I warned you, Frank. I told you to stay away from her. You can’t protect her.” 

Frank knows Murdock is worried, but it’s starting to piss him off.

“She doesn’t exactly need protecting. She can handle herself.” He cringes internally at the words - isn't that exactly what she had told him? 

“She wouldn’t need to if you weren’t endangering her like this.”

Murdock has struck a nerve. It’s the same thing Frank's been telling himself for weeks. It’s also the only thing that kept him from going back to her, the thought that she’d be safe without him. 

Realization dawns - if he had stayed, they never would’ve gotten to her. 

He works his jaw, feeling it crack and pop. Jesus, he just wanted this night to be over with. 

“Yeah? That’s real rich coming from you, altar boy. How many times was she in danger because of your bullshit? Better yet - how many times was she in danger and you were off playing grabass with that psychopath girlfriend of yours?” 

Murdock doesn’t answer, but Frank doesn’t need superpowers to pick up on his thoughts.

“There’s that good Catholic guilt.” Frank snorts. Serves him right, the self-righteous asshole. He deserved the jab and a lot worse. What keeps Frank from laying into him is the thought of Karen. Like it or not, Matt Murdock was her friend. 

“You want a beer, Murdock? It’s been a long night and I’m not spending the rest of it out here on this metal death trap.”

He shakes his head at Frank, unwilling to let it go. 

“You’re going to get her killed. Just like Maria.” 

Frank’s eyes flash, Murdock is playing with fire and he’s going to get burned if he doesn’t watch himself. 

“So are you. But the thing is, I’m going to let her decide. I won't lie to her. It has to be her choice.” 

Frank has fought with this line of thinking many times. He’s told himself many times to go. That it would keep her safe, keep her alive. His grand plan to keep her safe had failed. 

“It’s not about choice, Frank. It’s about doing what’s right.” 

“That’s where you're wrong, Matt.” Karen says. She’s at the window now, looking out at both of them - her past and her present and future. She's woozy from the pain and vodka but she’ll be damned if she’s going to listen to this hypocritical sermon about right and wrong from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, Matt Murdock, of all fucking people. 

“It’s my choice. I choose Frank. And it's none of your business. That was the choice _you_ made! You have no say in this...You have no right - _how dare you?_ ”

She’s swiping at the tears in her eyes angrily, standing her ground. Their friendship was in tatters and it had nothing to do with him ditching her for Elektra Natchios. It had everything to do with a relationship, a partnership, that had been built completely on lies and broken promises. 

“I just want you to be safe, Karen.” 

“You don't get to decide what is safe for me and what isn’t. You've endangered me more than Frank ever has and I’m not going to be lectured about my love life by you, of all people. Goodnight, Matt.” She turns her back on him. “Frank, are you coming to bed?” 

After all the shit he had put her through, she was asking him to come to bed. On the other hand, maybe she was just putting the screws to Murdock. 

“Yeah sweetheart, I’ll be right along.” It was new territory for Frank. She didn’t need him to fight her battles. She could hold her own and if Murdock couldn't see that, then he was blind in all the ways that counted. There was something else about the exchange that was hitting him hard...But he couldn't put a name to it. 

Frank shrugs at Matt. You got your answer, buddy. Take it or leave it. 

“You want a beer for the road, Murdock?” 

“Some other time, Castle.” 

Frank laces his fingers through Karen’s, letting her tug him back through the window with her good arm. 

The Devil is gone. All is well. 

“Hey, how d’you feel?” He cups her face in his hands, wiping away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. Vodka could really do a number on your emotions.

“Like shit. Let’s get you out of those clothes.” 

He’s still in his vest. She helps him out of it, both taking care not to accidentally bump the other's injuries. His massive chest is beginning to turn a gruesome shade of black and purple. That was her Frank, always looking like he got the shit kicked out of him. 

“Did you even take anything for these?” 

“Nah, I’m okay. Had worse.” 

“Okay tough guy.” She says, but she knows he’s right. She remembers the hospital - seeing the drill holes in his body, courtesy of the Kitchen Irish. Still, she gets a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer and presses it to his blackening eye. This has to be one of the few times his nose wasn’t broken all to hell. 

“Fuck... That’s cold.” He mutters to himself, but she hears it and and bites her lip to keep from laughing. 

“Serves you right for punching a hole in my kitchen wall.”

Big bad Punisher, can’t handle a bag of frozen veggies. 

“Jesus, woman. I told you I’d fix it.”

“You better! I’m not losing my security deposit over this.” She has her hand on her hip, like an indignant Tinkerbell, but she’s unable to hide her grin. She doesn’t give a shit about the wall and he knows it. 

“Did you mean it, Frank?” She bites her lower lip nervously. “Are you staying this time?”

“As long as you want me.” Frank says, and he means it. It’s not just him, this woman is a danger magnet whether he’s in her bed or not. And Frank’s damn well going to be there the next time some asshole tries to kidnap her. 

“Come on...” She’s flashing that smile at him, leading him to the bathroom for a long soak in the tub. And that’s when he gets it, that’s when it hits him that she could’ve left, could’ve gone with Matt Murdock, could’ve decided that Frank Castle was no longer worth the risk. But she was here, beside him, defending him - she wasn’t going to hide from her friends. No excuses, no secrets, no lies. She wasn’t going anywhere. They were in this together, just like she had wanted from the start.

“Come with me.” She says again, tugging his shirt off. Her nimble fingers immediately start working the buckle on his belt.

Maybe Frank wasn’t ready for the night to be over with just yet.


	11. Murder in Her Eyes

A few weeks later, Matt cautiously asks her to join him for coffee. She coldly declines. It’s going to take a lot more groveling to get her to forgive her friend. 

Well...That, and he didn’t want her to bring Frank. 

She knew what it would come down to. An intervention. He’d probably bring Foggy and they’d corner her and try to tell her how _dangerous_ Frank was, how _unhealthy_ the relationship was. Like either of them knew shit about it. 

Maybe if either of them had kept in touch on a regular basis, she’d consider hearing them out. But they hadn’t. Foggy had his fancy law firm and his tanned and dyed to perfection girlfriend and Matt was off...Well, doing stupid Matt shit. Typical. They had forgotten Karen Page. Again.

She seethed on it for days. Ellison stayed a good distance from her at the office, especially when she came in slamming files down on her desk and muttering things under her breath.

Her opening statements began with:

“Fucking disappear for months and then show up on my fucking fire escape like you’re going to tell me who I can and can't be with.” 

And then continued with a character assessment:

“Fucking shitbags, both of them.”

Usually followed by the comment that made Ellison and every other male staff member in the vicinity cringe:

“Hope she bites his damn dick off!”

And finished off with her closing argument:

“Fuck you Matt! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

“Karen swears a lot lately...” Brad, one of the interns remarked to Ellison on Monday morning. They thought maybe over the weekend she would cool off, but she had come in on Monday with that same ‘stay the fuck away from me’ vibe and had continued her epithets from the previous week. 

“Probably best to stay out of her line of fire, kid.” 

“She wouldn't actually...Shoot someone...Would she?” 

“Umm...” Ellison isn’t so sure. In fact, he’s thinking about heading to HR to find out what’s covered under the insurance policy and the worker’s comp policy. And while he's at it, he's considering signing them all up for active shooter safety protocols. And possibly anger management classes.

By Wednesday, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Page, we need to talk.” 

She’s muttering under her breath but she stops the moment he walks into her office - Ben Ulrich’s old office - and flashes him an entirely unconvincing smile. 

“What’s going on?”

“You.”

She has the gall to look politely puzzled.

“You are scaring the rest of the staff. I want you to take a vacation. Now, preferably. And don't come back until you’ve killed whoever has pissed you off so bad.” 

“You’re getting rid of me?” She looks wounded, upset, on the verge of crying. 

“No! I just want you to get some rest and take care of whatever has you so....Well, homicidal lately.”

“Okay...” She says slowly, thinking back on the past week. It’s a blur. The only thing Karen Page remembers is blinding rage and Frank hasn’t even been home to distract her. She glances out the doorway and sees a few people watching in the hallway. They bolt when they see her looking. 

_Oh, shit._

“I’m sorry.” She grins apologetically at Ellison, who is releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

Karen grabs her purse and her coat and shuts down her computer. She plants a brief kiss on Ellison’s cheek and he gives her a one armed hug. 

“Page?”

“Yeah?”

“Just make sure you properly dispose of the bodies so I don't have to write a front page article about you in six months.” 

“Thanks boss.” 

Karen hails down a taxi and slides into the seat, giving the driver her address. She flips open the phone Frank gave her and dials his number. 

“Hey...” Frank’s voice sounds like rusted metal on the other end. It’s music to her ears.

“Rought night?” She asks, worried. 

“Been a rough couple o’ days.” 

“Are you coming home?” 

“Soon as I can, sweetheart.” She can hear the smile in his voice and knows: either tonight or tomorrow, he’ll be back. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Her thighs press together at the promise and she grins into the phone. 

“Damn right you will.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

In the meantime, she knew a Daredevil who was going to get his ass handed to him.


	12. Intervention

They were waiting in a corner table, dressed in their suits. Three cups of coffee. They had orchestrated their attack. Foggy and Matt. _Shitbags_ , she thinks to herself. Frank’s really had an influence on her vocabulary lately.

When she had texted to accept Matt’s offer for coffee, he had insisted it was just as friends - _catching up_.

“I thought it would be nice if we all got together, like old times.” Matt says as Foggy stands up to give her a hug.

She flashes an innocent, demure smile at her friends.

“Yeah, it’s been such a _long_ time since I heard from either of you.” 

Foggy glances nervously over at Matt as he pulls out a chair for Karen. She takes her seat, her posture better than a fucking ballerina’s. 

Two can play that game, apparently. Murdock takes the bait.

“So let’s catch up. You first, Karen - what’s new with _you?_ ” 

“Nothing new, Matt. Same stuff that’s been going on for several months now.” 

“Stuff like Frank Castle?” Matt counters, laying it all out on the table. Karen squares her shoulders. 

“Wait, what -”

“I told you that’s none of your business.” She says nonchalantly, willing herself to stay calm. Karen adds some cream and sugar to her coffee and stirs it. 

“We’re your friends, it's _our_ business.” 

“Guys, hold up-”

“ _Friends_ don’t abandon each other. _Friends_ don’t lie to each other. And boyfriends don’t have ex-girlfriends in their beds!” 

“Karen, you know damn well - fuck it, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. This isn't about Electra! If you don't stop this-”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute!” Foggy finally gets out, his face flushed as his fist slams down on the table. “What the fuck is going on here!?” 

“You’ll what, Matt? You’ll what?” She finishes, her voice low and threatening. Karen takes a deep breath and turns to Foggy. “Frank Castle and I live together. We’re in a relationship. I love him. Matt apparently has a huge fucking issue with it.” 

“Because you’re going to get yourself killed! He’s dangerous, Karen!” 

“So are you, Matt! It didn’t stop you from trying to pursue a relationship with me!” 

“Holy shit!” Foggy exclaims, more to himself than to anyone else. 

“What’s the real issue here, Matt? That I’m with Frank Castle, or that I’m with anyone at all?” 

“Karen, stop.” Foggy interjects. Matt opens his mouth to fire back but Foggy claps a hand over it, silencing him. “Matt, shut up.”

“So, you’re seeing The Punisher?” He asks in a hushed whisper, his eyes scanning the coffee shop for anyone who might be listening. “Karen, I’m sorry but - are you _insane?_ ” 

“Foggy, please...” She pleads with him. If anyone could be reasoned with here, it was Foggy Nelson. “This is important to me. _He_ is important to me.” 

“He’s putting her at risk.” 

“So are you.” Foggy points out. “In fact, we’re both at risk just by association with you.” 

Foggy had once held very black and white views about bad guys and good guys. That was until Foggy was introduced to another color, blood red. 

Matt is finally silenced by this. His smile is tight and he starts reaching for his cane. 

“Stop, Matt. You can’t leave like this.” Foggy stills him, laying a hand on his arm as he looks at both of them. “We need to talk about this.” 

“Then talk. I’ve got nothing left to say.” Matt snaps at him.

“Well, I think it's pretty shitty that you drag me out here for an ambush against Karen without even telling me what was going on.” Foggy starts, directing his first hit towards Matt.

“Next: the phone works both ways, Karen. I’ll be the first to admit, it’s been hard to reach out. Life got crazy and we all left it in a shitty place, and I know that’s no excuse. I’m just a chicken. But you could’ve called either one of us. You could’ve talked to us.” 

“Maybe, based on Matt's reactions, I didn’t feel like I could.”

“Fair point. Matt’s a dick - you know this, I know this. Hell, Matt even knows this.” He grins at her. “But I’m always going to be here when you need me, Karen. I’m no Frank Castle, but I’m here for Karen Page.” 

She’s finally relenting as she takes Foggy’s hand across the table. “Thanks, Fog.”

She takes a deep breath and looks directly at Matt. Time for an ultimatum. 

“Frank is a part of my life now, Matt. He’s not going anywhere. And if you want to continue to be a part of my life...To be my friend, then you’re going to have to respect that.”

Matt gives her a sad smile and lets out a resigned sigh.

“I don’t like it.” 

“I’m not asking you to.” Karen answers, knowing that it's going to take time and this is about as much as she's going to get from Matt right now. 

“To be honest, I’m not crazy about it either. Frank Castle scares the shit out of me.” Foggy says with a shrug. 

She laughs and some of the tension finally breaks, like the first thaw after a long winter. Matt can’t hide the small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

And in one somber moment, it’s over as they all share the same guilty look.

They’ve missed this. 

“Let’s try harder. We should meet up more often at Josie’s for drinks. Just like old times.” 

Matt and Karen shift uncomfortably in their chairs. 

“Or maybe not Josie’s! We’ll make new times in new places!” Foggy amends. “The olives are bad there anyway. But we need to do this more often, agreed?”

“Okay.” Karen agrees.

They wait.

“Okay.” Matt echoes. 

It’s not perfect, and it's very fragile, but it’s a start. Foggy eyes them both nervously - he doesn't say it, but he’s wondering how long this ceasefire will hold.


	13. Wonderful Tonight

He bought a guitar. It’s taken him awhile to get around to tuning it and even longer to get around to playing it, but there he sits. On the edge of the bed, in a tux, while she picks out a dress. His fingers are idly strumming the chords to a song that couldn’t be more perfect for this moment.

“What do you think?” She asks, for about the third time that night. 

“Wear the dark blue. Trust me.” He answers, for about the third time that night. He grins and shakes his head, humming along with the song. There are a few discordant sounds here and there, he's a little rusty. 

Frank’s not entirely sure he wants her to wear that dark blue dress. At least, not in front of Murdock (irrational, when he thinks about it - the guy is blind), or Nelson (who has a girlfriend), or David “hung like a moose” Lieberman (who’s married). But the only time he wants her in that dress is when he can have her all to himself. Still, he knows she's nervous - knows she needs this. Needs to turn heads tonight. 

Her makeup is finally on. Her hair is curled and falling down her bare back. The midnight blue of the dress brings out the barest hint of strawberry color in contrast. Frank’s always prided himself on not being the jealous type, but he’s having serious doubts about this party. 

Strapless and clinging to her every curve, he abandons his guitar to zip her into her dress. His hands linger, revelling in the feel of her skin wrapped in the soft velvet. She does a quick turn in the mirror, taking time to gauge his reaction. His eyes are drawn to the high slit in the dress and the small crystals that sparkle when she moves, showcasing her killer legs. 

She slips on the one pair of black Louboutin’s she owns, bought on impulse when she got her first real paycheck from The Bulletin. 

When he gets her back home tonight, he's going to take his time undressing her. Nice and slow. 

She’s watching him in the mirror, watching his eyes darken with lust. She wonders how late they’ll be if they...

“Shit, it’s almost 7:30!” 

As much as she wants to rip him out of that tux - that _tux_ , that _fucking_ tux, _oh god_ he cuts such a figure - they’re going to be late if they don't catch a cab now. 

He flags one down easily and helps her into the backseat before sliding in next to her. 

“What was that song?” She asks. 

“If we make it through tonight, I’ll play it for you.” 

She snorts at him. “Just remember this was your idea.” 

“I had no idea it was going to turn into such a shitstorm.” 

They both privately agree to blame it on the unfortunate coincidence of Lieberman’s wife meeting Foggy’s girlfriend and Trish Walker. What started as a small gathering between friends had somehow become a black tie affair orchestrated by an unholy trifecta of aggressive party-planners. 

The upper level of the restaurant has been reserved for the private party and suddenly, Frank knows this is a bad idea. He wants to go home, put on his sweats and share a cheap beer and pizza with Karen. 

“Is it too late to ditch this thing?” 

She slides her arm through his and leads him up the stairs. 

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

“Karen!” Foggy’s handing his drink off to a waiter and jogging over to them. “We had bets about whether you guys would actually show.” 

“Can I get in on that?” Frank asks with a smirk. 

“Betting pool closed already. I won though.” He gives Karen a wink. “Can I get you guys anything? Marci’s making me drink the fancy stuff but the bar has anything you could ever want.” 

Everyone is here. And by everyone...Well, short of the Avengers it’s like a goddamn vigilante and friends convention. Frank sighs and Karen tightens her grip on his arm. 

It doesn't do any good because they’ve all turned to stare. Frank knew it was coming. Karen Page on any given day is beautiful, but tonight she’s a show-stopper. 

Murdock looks like someone pissed in his cheerios and Frank puts on his best smile, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure. It’s just too bad he can't even see what she looks like. 

He can do this. For her, he can do this. He’ll smile and be as charming and suave as he can be. 

He nods to Foggy Nelson and gives him a huge shit-eating grin. “Lead the way. Let’s get this lady a drink.” 

“I’ll second that.” Karen says, relaxing into his touch as he leads her to the bar. 

Whoever planned this thing obviously didn’t understand the meaning of ‘dinner’. Hors d’oeuvres everywhere and not one real meal in sight. The crowd has been dwindling down for the past hour, and Frank’s thinking about hitting up a burger joint the moment they can escape. 

Luke Cage and his girl were the first to take off, going to get some coffee. Frank smirks to himself. If they could just shake Nelson and his maneater, he would’ve grabbed Karen and made their escape two hours ago. 

Jessica Jones and her talkshow host friend, Trish, were next to go. Trish...Well, she overindulged a bit at the bar. He liked her though, she had a good heart. Jones herself had a biting sense of humor and a quick tongue. These were actually...Decent people. Frank was surprised that the night hadn’t been all bad. 

“Frank,” Karen says, with a giggle. She’s acting real shy. The drinks were starting to hit her hard. It wouldn't be long before he’d have to get her home to bed. “Dance with me?” 

Oh. 

He curses to himself under his breath. Should’ve known. She’s been hanging out with him at the bar and mingling with all the guests but he had sensed a hestitation all night long. Like she wanted something but didn’t know how to ask. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He steps behind the sound booth and slips the guy a few bucks to play a certain song for them. He leads Karen out onto the open balcony and pulls her close. 

The familiar strains of the guitar riff start up. 

“I told you I’d play it for you if we survived the night, but you look a little worse for the wear.” 

She laughs as he twirls her and pulls her back into a sway. He hasn't danced in so long. 

“I didn’t picture you as a Clapton fan.” She whispers, resting her head against his chest. 

_“And the wonder of it all, is that you just don’t realize...”_ He sings softly into her ear. 

“Full of surprises, sweetheart.” He stops for a second and tilts her head up to look at her. “You know I love you, yeah?”

“Yeah. Love you too, Castle.” She mumbles against his chest. He snorts to himself, full smile spreading across his face. She’s three sheets to the wind. He has no idea how she’s still standing in those heels. 

“Take me home, Frank?” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

He shrugs off his jacket and wraps her up in it. The nights are getting colder in Hell’s Kitchen. He passes Murdock on the way out, who gives him a nod and an actual, honest to god, relenting smile. This is one of the weirdest nights of Frank’s life. He knows it won’t last, it’ll only be a matter of time before they get on Murdock’s shit list again. But it’s something to file away and worry about later. Not that Frank was worried. 

The stairs are another matter. Those fucking shoes. He lifts her up, bridal style, and carries her down to the first floor. There’s already a cab waiting nearby. Thank god for small favors. 

“Hey pal, any chance we can hit the drive-through at Mickey D’s before we head home? I’m starving, and the little lady here could probably use some fries to soak up her drinks.” 

“They don’t serve any food in that fancy restaurant you came out of?”

“Apparently not, buddy. Don’t ever get rich - you’ll starve to death.” 

“I hear that.” The cabby affirms and Frank tips him extra for the ride. Guy's gotta eat, after all.


	14. Elevator Redux

“Easy does it, princess.” He grunts, helping her out of the cab a short time later. 

“I can walk, Frank. Seriously.” Karen says, rolling her eyes at him. She's a little unsteady, but the burgers and fries had done a lot to take the edge off her champagne high. Karen was grateful, she really didn’t need a hangover. 

At least she hadn’t done shots with Foggy. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Lightweight.” He mutters under his breath with a laugh. 

“I didn’t expect you to be so sociable!” She complains. “And every table we went to, they kept giving me fresh drinks!” 

They step through the empty apartment lobby into the middle elevator. 

“Fake it ‘til you make it.” Frank smirks. “Or until Murdock looks like he’s gonna choke.” 

She bursts out laughing, leaning back against the elevator wall. She can’t even be angry with him for it. He had been...Charming. And sexy...

Especially in that tux. 

“You’re such an asshole.” It’s become an endearment. 

“You love it.” He replies. Thinking quickly between the thirteenth and fourteenth floor, Frank pulls the emergency stop button and quickly disables the alarm before it can call the elevator company or the night guard. 

“Is there a camera in this elevator?” 

“Nope.” He’s bluffing, he has no idea. From a quick glance around, it doesn’t look like it, but who the fuck knows? David’s the tech wizard, Frank is just the brute force. 

“Oh good.” She says, tugging on his bow tie. “I’d hate for someone to have a Punisher sex tape out there.” 

She shrugs out of his jacket as he starts to undo his cufflinks, fighting with the buttons on his sleeves. He fucking hated suits.

“I suppose The Punisher is a good porn star name, though.” Karen teases, helping him out of his pants. Frank gives up and lets her rip the rest of the shirt off. Buttons go pinging across the elevator floor. Fuck it. 

He's run out of patience. What he really wants, has wanted all night, is to get her out of that dress and onto him. 

Karen knows this, she turns and puts her hands up against the wall as he unzips her dress, taking the time to let it fall slowly, caressing her pale skin as it goes. She kicks the dress into a corner and she’s there before him, all his. 

“Jesus, Page. If I had known you weren’t wearing anything under that, I never would’ve let you leave the house tonight.” 

“I took my panties off halfway through the party. I was hoping for fancy bathroom sex, but I’ll settle for elevator sex.” 

Frank wants to punch something over the lost opportunity, but she’s turning in his arms to face him. Her tongue darting out to taste him, licking a slow trail down his neck to his chest. Her lips press reverently against every scar in her reach. 

He lifts her up onto the hand railing, the wood biting into her skin. His fingers are seeking out her center, finding her already soaked. He draws two fingers up and down her clit, slow and leisurely until she's almost shuddering in his hands. She moans, biting hard into his shoulder. 

“Frank...” She pants, pulling him impossibly closer. “I need you. Need to feel you.”

She’s at that perfect angle. His dick drives home inside of her, hitting all the right spots, need and want building quickly. He wraps one hand around her slender throat to steady her as his thumb circles her clit and she drives those stiletto heels into the back of his thighs. 

In the reflection of the elevator doors, she can see herself - her body covered by him, watching the muscles of his ass flex as he pounds into her. Her skin flushes with heat, the private show heightening her arousal.

He dips his head down, his breath hot on her skin. He licks and nips at the sensitive spots there; kissing her, marking her, claiming her. 

“Frank...I can’t...” She groans into his neck, raining kisses down on the side of his face, his stubble burning her skin. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He growls as he goes harder, deeper, building speed. 

In seconds she’s breaking apart in his arms, pupils blown wide, her cries gutteral, her body quivering as he follows her down. He draws back to watch her fall. Glorious, is the only word that comes to his mind. He’s so close. So close. 

His eyes darken, impossibly. The ravenous snarling coming from him is like music to her ears as she bucks against him, grinding hard, claiming his mouth with hers even as the hard hand rail bites into the tender flesh of her ass. Her legs ache but she needs this, needs him. 

His head falls back, eyes closed as he finally lets go with a groan that can be heard several floors in either direction. Sweat clings to their skin in the humid elevator cab. He sets her down, back on her feet and rescues her gown from the floor. 

They dress slowly, between intimate touches and quiet whispers. Her hair is a fucking wreck, his shirt is a lost cause. 

“Guess I owe Hoyle a new shirt.” He says with a grin. He's not going to bother hunt for the lost buttons. 

Frank puts the elevator back in motion and they reach their floor finally. Karen peers out down the hallway to make sure the coast is clear, cradling her shoes and purse to her chest as she and Frank book it to the apartment, laughing together in their race to get to the door. He’s shirtless, jacket and mangled dress shirt slung over one arm and outpacing her. 

Unbeknownst to them, an elderly woman who wanted nothing more than a quiet night in with her crossword is thinking of complaining to management about the noise level after hours. As she brings her eye to the peephole to see what all the commotion is, she’s met by the sight of a musclebound god running shirtless through her hallway. He stops at the door across from hers and turns, flashing a trickster grin and giving her an eyeful as he catches a set of keys in his strong hands. Her eyes travel down the expanse of his chest and linger on his pants - slung low on his hips and... And suddenly she’s changed her mind about that complaint call.


	15. Vulnerability

It starts with a container full of little girls on a dock. It starts when the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen asks Karen Page to do some digging. 

It catches fire when she follows the paper trail of shell companies back to a few Senators and some Congressmen. Front page news. He and Karen fought like hell for a week over it. 

Frank doesn’t sleep easy after that. He’s waiting. 

Something is coming. 

It happens when he's not there. He’s right around the corner, picking up takeout to sneak into her office, hat pulled low over his eyes when he hears the blast and feels the shock wave under his feet. Explosion. A bomb. A fucking bomb.

The bomb tore through the Bulletin’s offices, and Karen Page was still inside. Something starts to break inside Frank Castle as he ditches the food and begins to run. The city streets are clouded with smoke, dust in the air. Further down, he can hear the sirens starting. A long way off. The traffic in the road comes to a slow, begins to move aside for police officers, ambulances, firefighters. 

His lungs are burning the closer he gets. He’s not sure if it’s the dust from the rubble or the panic starting to creep in on him. It’s fraying and thin, like a wire wound too tight. He’s holding on by a thread. 

There are people, everywhere. People dead, people screaming, people crying, people climbing over the debris. People trying to get out the windows. There’s a massive blast hole through the left side of the building. 

He circles around the back of the building, and slips in. The stairwell is miraculously intact - it’s dark, but Frank’s never needed much light to see. He climbs. His boots pound on the stairs, echoing the hammering of his heart in his chest. 

People, bodies, in the hallway of the second floor. The building is on fire. He has to get to Karen’s office. 

He sees a woman on the floor, a shard of glass neatly impaled through her face and thinks it’s Karen. Brown hair. Not Karen. He still has hope. 

There are others in the hallway, some dead, some not. He helps them to his feet when he can and tells them to go out the back entrance, none of them seem to know where Karen Page is. The fire is spreading. The building is not structurally sound. He knows Karen would want him to help as many as he could. 

He kicks open her office door but she’s not there. 

_Oh god, oh god..._

He finds Ellison, bleeding from a gash across the forehead and gets him to his feet. He pushes him back down the hallway towards the exit stairwell and continues on. He can hear the building beginning to fall in on itself, metal twisting and concrete cracking. He can hear the sirens outside. 

Left, then left, then right. Empty. Not a living soul in sight. Just death. More bodies the closer he gets to the heart of the destruction.

There’s a records room, the door is blown off and the metal shelving units have toppled, boxes and paper...And blood. Frank starts ripping through the wreckage, heedless of the fire. In the back of the room, there's a shock of pale blond hair that he would recognize anywhere. 

“Karen...” He breathes. He hauls the metal frames up and slams them back against the wall, clearing his path to her. He lifts her, cradling her to him as he begins to sprint down the hallway. 

“I’ve got you, hold on. I’ve got you. Stay with me, stay with me. Don’t you go anywhere, you hear me?” He barely knows what he’s saying but as long as he's talking to her then he's keeping himself focused, in check. Gotta keep moving. 

Outside in the sunlight, he’s passing the firefighters making their way into that hellscape. The EMT’s are treating a lot of the people Frank found in the building. 

His voice isn't working properly when he lays her gently down on an open stretcher. 

“Help her...” He croaks out, grabbing the nearest guy. The EMT starts assessing the damage. He gets another one, a woman, and they get her ready for immediate transportation. 

They put an oxygen mask over her and begin strapping her in. 

“We have to get her to the hospital immediately!” The woman says, as they put Karen into the back of an ambulance. Frank follows, climbing into the van.

“Hey buddy, you can’t come with us.” 

He pulls his gun on them and shouts “Just fucking drive!” as his fist slams against the wall. He doesn’t have time to play good civilian.

He reaches for her, needing something to hold on to. Her eyes aren’t open. She can’t wake up, can’t look at him. His eyes are burning, he can’t look at her. He stares at the floor, memorizing the pattern of the metal as they speed off to the hospital. Tries not to think about the blood, the glass, the burns, the cuts...

They kick him out of the van and take her away again, wheeling her inside down hallways he can’t follow. 

“Can I help you?” 

A nurse. She looks tired and pissed off but something relents at the sight of him. 

“There was a bomb.” He says and he can hear how dead he sounds. “They took her...”

He’s pointing down the hallway and she nods. She squeezes his shoulder and takes off, walking quickly. 

Frank hasn’t felt so fucking useless since the day his family was murdered. 

Is this what normally happened? Was he just supposed to wait? He knew she was beyond his level of help, this was much more than a bullet hole or a stab wound. With shaking hands he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number she insisted he memorize. 

“Yeah?”

“Foggy.” He says. “It’s Frank...Frank Castle. I’m at the hospital...Karen’s...There’s been an explosion...”

He doesn’t have the right words to explain it. Doesn’t have to.

“I’ll be right there.” 

His fist slams into the wall, hard. He can’t feel it. He does it again, and again, until his knuckles are raw and bloody. He doesn’t care. It’s the only thing releasing some of the rage that’s suffocating him right now.

“Fuck!" He screams and another nurse passing by jumps in terror, picking up her pace to get the hell away from him.

He takes a seat there in the hallway. The last time he was here he was hunting one of the fuckers that helped kill his family. Can’t think about that now. Can’t think at all. Frank sits in a stupor as time passes. It feels like an eternity. 

Foggy’s here, jogging down the hallway towards him. His hair is wild and his tie is flying out behind him. Matt Murdock is down at the nurse’s station, checking to see if he can get any information.

“I heard what happened.” He pants. “Is she...?” 

Frank stands to greet him, his eyes red rimmed. “They took her down there not too long ago.” 

“They said some guy helped a ton of people get out of the building.” 

Frank waves it off. To him, it doesn’t matter. The only thing he cares about is how he failed her and she could be dying on a fucking table somewhere for all he knows. 

“I took too long. Couldn’t find her.” He’s been beating himself up over it since they got to the hospital. 

“Lucky you did find her.” The nurse interrupts, coming down the hall. “They’re still working on her. She was in pretty bad shape for awhile, and she’s still not totally in the clear yet. But she’s strong and she’s breathing on her own.” 

_She’s breathing._

“Thank you.” Matt says, approaching them. The guilt is written all over his face but Frank is barely paying attention to him. 

There are more words, words he doesn’t comprehend. Words his mind doesn't want to touch. Abdominal perforation, hemothorax, concussion, lacerations, burns, brain scans. It’s all a blur. When can he see her? When will she wake up? Those are the questions he wants answered. 

She has no answers. 

The frazzled nurse gives Frank another reassuring squeeze on the arm and disappears back down the hall. It’s going to be a long day for her. There are more victims rolling in every few minutes. 

The three men take their seats. It’s going to be a long wait for them. Waiting is the hardest part.


	16. Conscious

It’s around 3:00 am when Karen’s eyes open. They burn, everything seems a little bit fuzzy. Her whole body hurts, there are tubes stuck in her sore skin everywhere she looks and she feels like she’s been hit by a truck. 

There’s a lamp on next to her hospital bed. And The Punisher is asleep in the chair beside her, arms folded across his chest. His long legs stretch out across the floor and she marvels at how even asleep, he seems to take up all the space in the room. 

He wakes with a start, as if sensing that she’s finally conscious. His eyes dart over to her, making sure she’s okay. It takes him a moment to register that she’s awake. 

“Karen? How do you feel?” He’s leaning forward, his hand finding hers.

“Frank.” Words are hard, her throat burns. Everything burns. “What happened?” 

“Someone blew up The Bulletin. You were in the building when it went off.”

“Ellison?” 

“Last I saw, he was okay. Hit his head, but he was okay.” 

He sends a text on his phone to Foggy Nelson, to let him know Karen is awake. He picks up the glass of water he’s been refreshing every two hours and drops a straw in it, holding it to her lips. She takes a grateful sip. 

“I was in the records room.” She touches a hand to her head. 

“That’s why you feel like you just had a ton of bricks dropped on you.” 

“That explains it.” 

The RN enters the room, giving them a tired but relieved smile. She’s the same nurse who helped Frank before, and this time he takes note of her name - Amy.

“Looking good here.” The nurse says, putting the clipboard back at the end of the bed. She peers at Karen's face closely. 

“Your eyes are sore, right?” 

“Yeah, little blurry. Why?” 

“Burst blood vessels. You look like the Daredevil.” She flashes an embarassed smile at Karen, who turns to give Frank a shitty look.

“You didn’t say anything!” 

“You do _not_ look like that asshole. And it wasn’t important.” 

“I have to finish my rounds and then I'm off for the night, finally. Your friends left you some flowers and cards.” Amy says, pointing to the table on the side of the bed. 

“Thanks.” 

Karen picks up the first card. Something funny. She squints at it. 

“Glad you survived getting bombed...Again. Frank kicked us out. He wouldn't share the recliner, so I’ll stop by tomorrow and see how you’re doing. Love, Foggy.” 

Frank snorts, unable to hide the grin that creeps across his features. 

Another card. 

“I’m going to make this right. I promise.” From Matt, of course. Always so single-minded. He could’ve just said _‘get well soon’_ , Karen mused to herself. She doesn’t miss the dark look that crosses Frank’s face.

“Not if I get there first.” Frank vows. 

“You’re staying here, with me.” She says firmly. “I want this guy brought in alive. I want him to tell everyone who hired him and why.” 

“Fucking piece of shit like that deserves to die before he hurts more people, and you know it.” 

“If you kill him, then we can’t tie the bombing to the politicians involved in the sex trafficking ring and you know damn well that’s what all this is about.” 

His nostrils flare as he inhales, deep and angry. Long, slow exhale. 

“I’m not going to have this fight with you, Page. I almost lost you today...I thought you were dead.” 

She reaches out a hand for him, needs to feel his touch. She’s too fucking tired to fight. 

“I can’t...I can’t lose you. I can’t. I’ll fucking kill all of them if that’s what it takes to keep you alive.” He says, his voice is rough and breaking over the words. 

“It’s okay, I’m here.” But she knows...It’s written all over his face. He couldn’t do it twice. And today had brought back all the old memories. All the old fights between them. He really and truly would murder for her and not even blink while he did it. Killing came easiest to Frank. 

“Come here.” She says, moving over to make room for him in the bed. All their bullshit always seems to work itself out in bed. 

“Not a good idea. You're hooked up to so much shit...”

“I don't care. Bed. Now.” She orders.

He can’t deny her. He shakes his head and unzips his boots. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He helps her slide forward, slipping into the bed behind her. He leans back against the headboard and she tugs his arms into place around her. 

“You’re not thinking of leaving again, are you Frank?” Karen asks, her hands resting on his thighs. 

“Can’t say the thought didn't cross my mind.” He sighs. 

“This had nothing to do with you. I wrote that expose. I made myself a target.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” He’s pissed. Wants to yell at her for endangering herself again over this shit. Instead, he presses a kiss to her hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I used to think you'd be safer...But the things that can happen when I’m not around? That terrifies me.”

“Then I guess you had better stick around.” 

Karen settles in against his chest, inhaling his familiar scent that smells like home. There’s an underlying mix of sweat and smoke and blood but with Frank, that’s all par for the course. Her burning eyes close and she lets herself drift off once more. They can talk more in the morning. 

Later, when she's out of the hospital, she’ll see the hollowed out shell that used to be the New York Bulletin. Ellison will tell her how many lives Frank saved, including his. Including hers. She’ll realize just how close she had come. If he hadn’t gone in for her, she never would have made it out. Not everyone was so lucky to have an angel of death looking after them.


	17. Bring the Pain

It had been such a nice visit, finally seeing Karen awake and starting to look better. Foggy had brought her one of those cheesy ‘get well soon’ balloons and she had laughed and hugged him tight. 

Until he cocked it all up by telling them that Daredevil hadn’t made much progress on tracking down the bomber of the New York Bulletin. If Foggy Nelson had known what kind of hornet’s nest he had just kicked open, he would’ve fucking bolted right then and there. 

What started as a calm, back and forth exchange between Frank Castle and Karen Page had exploded into an outright shouting match...Which Foggy suspected really wasn’t good for someone who had recently been the victim of a bombing.

Still...It wasn’t like she couldn’t hold her own.

“It’s not about protecting me, it's about you and this _need_ to sate your bloodlust!” She spits her words at him like nails. 

Frank’s pacing, fists clenched and arms swinging. He’s pissed, he's fucking furious. That Murdock has gotten nowhere in the time she’s been in the hospital is just par for the fucking course at this point and he's desperate to take matters into his own hands. 

“You want this to keep happening, huh? Want more people dead, more buildings bombed?” He lashes out, unable to hold his tongue any longer. 

Foggy Nelson is sitting in the corner, mouth shut tight. He's a lawyer, he should be mediating, defusing the situation. But he’s a smart man and he knows when to shut up and stay out of it. He wishes he were invisible. He’s also really hoping that Karen doesn’t throw the glass vase next to her bed because Frank keeps pacing in front of him and he’s right in her line of sight. 

Anyone who had said that Karen willfully turned a blind eye to the raw brutality of The Punisher had their head up their ass. Foggy had wondered about it before, if she was ignoring all the bad in search of the good...

Now Foggy was questioning whether or not it was Karen Page keeping The Punisher at bay. 

“Of course I don’t, but they need to be brought to justice! Their crimes need to be exposed! Everyone needs to see them for what they are!”

Frank stops, and that’s when Foggy gets nervous. He starts to slide out of his chair, slow and easy. No sudden movements. Don’t draw their attention. 

“That’s horseshit, Karen! Wake up and smell the fucking corpses! Your coworkers, _your friends_ , are dead and you think it’ll be okay if Murdock catches some guy who will...What? Testify? He’ll probably chew off his own tongue and that’s if someone doesn’t put a fucking bullet between his eyes first! People like this are never brought to justice, Karen. It doesn't work that way. They’ll cover it up and move underground, like cockroaches and they’ll keep coming back until somebody stomps them out.”

“And that someone’s always gotta be you, Frank? You think I don't want them dead? Think I don’t want them to pay for what they’ve done? Fuck you, Frank!”

Foggy’s edging towards the door as they stare each other down. He wants to live to see another day. 

Karen's breathing heavily, her face flushed with anger. Gone was the fragile wounded bird Foggy had visited this morning. There was a Valkyrie lying in that bed and she was utterly terrifying, her eyes burning hellfire and her tongue as sharp as any sword.

“Killing the pawn they hired to plant the bomb does no good! We need a way to bring them all down, or it's all for nothing.” 

“It’s all for nothing if you die, Karen! People like that, pawns or not, need to be put down. Permanently.” 

Frank can see it in her eyes, she’s winding up for the kill. He’s thinking back to that night in the restaurant and he can hear himself telling her:

_‘My old lady, she didn't just break my heart. She...She’d rip it out, she’d tear it apart, she’d step on that shit, feed it to a dog. I mean she was ruthless. She brought the pain.’_

“You’re right, Frank. People like that need to be put down. You want your pound of flesh, Punisher? You want to take it out on someone? _I’m right here!_ It’s my fucking fault that they’re all dead now! I killed them, it’s all on me. You want to kill the person responsible? I’m right here!”

His growl builds into a yell as his fist flies out and shatters the framed landscape painting hanging on the wall of her hospital room. She brought the pain alright, hurting herself to hurt him. How had he not seen it coming? 

“Goddamnit, Karen. Goddamnit!” He’s angry - no, not at her, never at her. He’s angry though, and he's tired and...Fuck, it’s been so long since he was overseas. When you're in the thick of it, you become numb. Desensitized. It had been awhile since they had so much horror in their lives. He wasn’t as prepared as he used to be.

He was even less prepared for how it had started to affect Karen. Some people would've called their peace a blessing, but Frank just felt inadequate now. He had already failed to protect her. He was no longer sure of himself, of what move to make next. Or how to fix her. How to put her back together - because this person talking wasn’t Karen Page. 

The silence stretches across the small hospital room, broken only by the sound of deep angry breaths. 

Foggy, who has carefully extracted himself from the room, leans against the wall next to Karen's door, suddenly short of breath. The first thought to cross his mind is _‘holy shit, they might actually kill each other’_. There’s a doctor, leaning against the wall on the other side of the door who must be thinking the exact same thing. He clucks to himself, tucks his pen away, and takes off in the opposite direction. Smart move.

“Foggy?” The voice is soft. It’s Matt, his cane tapping gently on the floor of the hallway. “What’s going on?”

Foggy jogs down the hall to meet Matt. 

“Now's not a good time, Matt. C’mon let's get out of here. Let’s get a drink.” 

Outside, where it's safe, Foggy exhales. 

“What the hell was that about?” 

“Lover’s quarrel.” Foggy says shortly. 

“We should go back in. Make sure Karen’s all right.” And on some level, Foggy knows that Matt’s itching to get in the middle of it. To rescue the damsel. He has no idea. 

“She’s fine, Matt. In fact she just handed the Punisher’s own ass back to him on a silver platter.” 

Matt doesn't know whether to be shocked or impressed. He certainly can’t reconcile that version of Karen with the Miss Page he’s always known. But he relents and lets Foggy lead the way to Josie’s. 

Back in Karen Page’s room, The Punisher leans his head against the wall, his hand curled loosely and resting on the now cracked drywall. There’s a piece of glass sticking out of his knuckle and a small trickle blood creeping down his forearm, soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Don’t say that.” He tells her hoarsely. “Don't ever say that shit again. I could never...” 

He turns to face her. 

She’s crying, head turned away and she won't look at him. She’s had this poison rotting away inside of her, eating her alive for days and he had no idea. Had no idea she blamed herself for all of it. How could he be so fucking stupid? 

“Hey...” He sits down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t cry, don't cry. It’s okay.” 

“It’s my fault.” He clucks his tongue at her, pulls her into his arms. How could she possibly think he would ever lay the blame of this at her feet? How could she ever think he’d want to hurt her? 

“No it’s not. Don’t think like that, okay? If you're thinking like that, then they win. Don’t give them that kind of power, Karen.” 

“I wrote that paper, Frank. I as good as painted a target on the building and announced open season.”

“If it wasn't you, someone else would’ve done it. Maybe Ellison, maybe someone else. Same outcome.” 

“You’re bleeding.” She’s changing the topic. Avoidance. Her go to move when someone pulls the rug out from under her. Frank knows her tactics better than he knows himself. He’s back in familiar territory. Karen pulls the small piece of glass out of his hand and soaks up the blood with a few tissues. 

“It’s nothing. I figured you were gonna throw that vase at me anyway.”

“Thought about it.” She jokes, sniffling through her tears and he laughs quietly. “I didn't want to hit Foggy by accident.”

“There’s my girl.” He grins and kisses her temple, one of the few spots left on her face that isn't marred by bruises and cuts.

They drop the topic for the night, but Frank doesn't let it go. He can’t, especially not when it’s still weighing on her mind. Instead, he starts to plan.


	18. Off the Grid

It’s not long before Karen signs an AMA form and checks herself out of the hospital. She can’t do it anymore; the endless nothingness of staring at the wall, the whirring and beeping of the machines, those white nurse shoes scuffing down the hallway, Frank pacing restlessly across the floor of her tiny room. It just reminds her that she feels guilty, that she shouldn’t be there. 

And that's fine with The Punisher, because Frank’s had more than enough time to prepare. 

He tucks her carefully into his truck and shuts the door, she leans her head against the window. She’s fast asleep in moments. She’s hardly slept in the days since the bombing, refusing most sedatives and heavy painkillers. The nurse, Amy, wheeled her out - actually happy to have a patient leave before the doctor could release them. It wasn’t Karen Page, though she had been far from the model patient. It was the angry, brooding man who had frightened the patients and over half the staff. 

Frank takes the road out of the city, the buildings starting to dwindle behind them the further they go. The forest surrounds them on all sides.

“Where are we?” Karen asks, waking up. They’re on a seasonal road in the woods, the rocks and bumps jarring the car and making her wince. Night is falling. 

“Gunner Henderson - I told you about him, yeah? He had a cabin out here. We’re going to use it until this thing is finished.” 

“Finished your way?” 

“Nope. Finished _your_ way. The way I see it is this: there’s no New York Bulletin right now. You want to expose the truth, then we’re going off the grid. Middle of nowhere. Homefield advantage where I can protect you. You do your investigating, dig up the dirt and get your justice. If they bring the fight to us, I’ll finish it my way. Is that fair?” 

She’s taken aback. Frank Castle never would’ve compromised with her like this a year ago. Fair was never part of the equation in Frank’s world. He would’ve hunted them down and executed them without giving a shit what she wanted. 

“Thank you, Frank.” Karen whispers, as he leans across the console. His forehead presses to hers, his hand caressing the back of her neck. 

He did it for her. Because she blamed herself. Because she needed this win. Because she’s the only one he would ever lay down his guns for. 

Of course, he’s expecting them to come looking for her. And when they do, all bets are off. 

He’s scoped out the terrain beforehand, learning it like the back of his hand and also disarming the traps that Gunner had set before he had been killed. Tomorrow, after she was safely inside, he would reset them all and a few more of his own. With David’s help, he had installed a surveillance system that rivalled CCTV. The woods are great for hiding cameras.

The cabin is sparsely furnished, but comfortable. He gets the lights on and helps her to the sofa. Gunner had been sleeping on a cot in the basement, but Frank’s got a warm bed ready for later that night. The main room of the cabin has been set up for her research. He’s borrowed a laptop off David. He doesn’t know shit about bugs and hacking, but the apartment wasn’t safe after the bombing. Frank was done taking chances. 

“You’ve brought all my research? How...When...?” 

“The second night you were in the hospital. I cleared the apartment out and...it pains me to fuckin’ say it but I settled with the landlord. We can’t go back there again. The good news is, you got your full security deposit back.” Karen's mind is reeling but honestly, she had already anticipated that step. She’s surprised the apartment building was still standing. 

Frank doesn’t tell her that the landlord was going to ding her for a hole he put in the wall awhile back, but Frank convinced him - nicely - to change his mind.

He also doesn't tell her he left a sign on the front door of the apartment in big block letters, ‘Hey assholes, we’ve moved! Happy trails!'

“What about Matt and Foggy?” 

He had talked to Foggy more often than he thought he would ever want to in the last few days. He actually liked the guy, respected him. Foggy wanted Karen off the grid just as much as Frank did. And Red, well...

“Murdock is working his end of it.” He hands her a flip phone. “They’ve both got your number but probably shouldn’t come here until it’s done. It’ll put Nelson in danger and...”

He trails off. He doesn’t really want to finish the sentence but at the same time...

“And?”

“Wouldn’t want him to blow his legs off trying to get here.” 

Karen’s blood red eyes widen comically when she realizes he’s not joking.

“So uh, you’re probably not going to want to wander too far off the porch either.” Frank’s done taking chances.

“Let’s table that discussion for the moment - what about food?” 

“Got enough to last awhile, but I’ll be making the supply runs.” 

“I'm not living off of MRE’s, Frank.” 

“They’re not so bad, once you get used to ‘em.” He says seriously, avoiding her piercing gaze. A tense silence falls in the cabin.

Karen pulls herself up off the couch with a sudden abnormal surge of strength, hobbling over to the kitchen and flinging open the fridge door. 

Vegetables, meat, drinks, dairy, fresh fruit, even her fancy coffee creamer. She opens the cupboards - canned goods, boxes of pasta, seasonings, sugar, flour, the works. 

Frank bursts out laughing, long and loud. 

“You asshole!”

“Shoulda seen the look...On your face.” He doubles over, whacks the table with his hand, howling with laughter. 

“You’re not funny!” 

“Oh god...I needed that. Holy shit...” He wheezes. She can’t stay mad at him. She loves to see his face light up when he laughs. She hasn’t seen him like that since before the Bulletin blew up and even before then, it wasn’t a common sight. He pulls a box of K-Cups out of a cupboard. “I even got you that chocolate raspberry shit you love so much.”

His attention to detail was spot on. Still an asshole, though. 

“Come on badass, let’s get you back to the couch. You’re supposed to be on bed rest.” 

She pulls him down onto the sofa cushions with her, reclining against him. All the fight’s gone out, that surge of panic left her exhausted. 

“Tired now?” He cackles. She pokes him in the rib. 

“You’re goddamn lucky I don’t have my gun on me, Castle.” 

“Thought you were all about doing things the right way, lady liberty?” 

“You don’t fuck with a girl’s coffee, Frank.”


	19. Good Girls Get All the Gifts

He comes home to the crooning strains of Sinatra singing. Karen's cross-legged on the couch, cradling her laptop. The coffee table is covered in papers - bank ledgers, crime scene photos, dossiers, the works. A glass of good scotch (a gift from Ellison, no doubt) keeps her company as her fingers fly across the keyboard, blonde hair tucked behind her ear. All that's missing is a spider's web of red thread.

_‘Cause it's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft,  
And although I know it’s strictly taboo...’_

He slings his coat over the kitchen chair and takes in the surroundings. She's decorated the cabin for Christmas already, even though it’s weeks off. There are strands of colored lights everywhere and a candle in every window. In the corner is her fake spruce tree, covered in twinkle lights, glass ornaments, and topped off with a gaudy glitter star that somehow looks beautiful when it’s lit. 

He doesn’t remember packing all of this. He figures one of the guys must’ve done it - Foggy maybe, or Murdock. Someone knew she'd want these things around. 

“You’ve been gone awhile.” She greets him with a smile, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her hip as she stretches her arms up over her head. Her eyes have that glazed look that tells him she's been staring at the screen for way too long. “I got a lot of work done.”

Probably too much, but he doesn’t say it. He’s wondering when she last took a break, had some food, did something other than obsess over it. 

“Calling me a distraction, Miss Page?” He teases.

“So what if I am?” She fires back at him. 

“You won't get anything for Christmas.” 

“Christmas isn't for a few more weeks, Castle.” She says, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him. 

“Guess I’ll tell Red you don't want his present then.” He smirks, dangling a small flash drive between them enticingly.

Karen scrambles forward, her fingers closing triumphantly around the drive as Frank swoops in to steal a kiss from her, long and slow. He loves the taste of scotch on her lips. 

Her breath hitches as his teeth scrape over her lower lip, his hand seeking out the hem of her shirt. She breaks the kiss regretfully, pushing his hand away. She won't meet his eyes.

“I should really take a look at this.” She whispers. 

He presses a kiss to her forehead to let her know it’s all right, it’s always all right with him. She hasn’t let him _really_ look at her, _really_ touch her, since before the hospital.

Frank’s about to let her go back to work, but he thinks twice. He closes the laptop lid and sets it on the table. 

“You are so lucky I just saved that...” She says, giving him a glare.

“Dance with me.” He says, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. 

“Frank, I should...”

“You don't gotta do anything else. Just one dance, yeah?” 

He lifts her up and pulls her into him, missing the way she feels against him. Her arms slide up around his neck and she lets him put his hands on her waist. And they sway. 

_‘When you arouse the need in me_  
My heart says “yes, indeed” in me  
Proceed with what you’re leadin’ me to...’ 

“You know after Frank Jr. was born, Maria wouldn't let me touch her for the longest time. Something had gone wrong, his heartbeat had slowed down to nothing so they had to get him out early. C-Section. She was a strong woman but it really did a number on her. She was so afraid I wouldn’t want her after that...” He stops himself, shaking his head. Yeah, he definitely had a type. 

“Frank, it’s not...”

“Let me tell you this, then you can yell at me, okay? It never changed anything for me. It never mattered, not even once. I was damn proud of that scar. I loved it.”

Karen's never heard this story before. 

“There’s been times I've looked in the mirror and I’m so smashed up, I don’t recognize myself. Times when I think that the outside is finally starting to resemble the fucked up mess on the inside.”

“Frank-” She says, her legs threatening to give out underneath her as his hand runs over the curve of her hip. She desperately wants to stop, wants to run, doesn't want to face up to this distance she’s kept between them since the explosion. 

“It’s not about vanity, Karen. Or maybe it is. It doesn't matter anyway - I get it. But you don’t have to hide from me. Scars aren’t supposed to be pretty. I don't care what it looks like, because it doesn't change this. It doesn’t change us.”

It’s embarassing and silly and she doesn't want to own up to it, but she can't deny that she can hardly look at herself anymore. Doesn’t want him to look at her either, because she finds herself repulsive and ruined.

“I don't even feel like me anymore.” She buries her face in his chest and he can feel the warm splatter of tears seeping into his shirt. “Like parts of me are missing and what's left is...” 

“You’re right here, you got that? _Nothing is missing,_ you’re right here with me and it’s all you in there.” Frank whispers fiercely, holding her tight. 

He decides right then and there he’s going to push his luck. 

The bedroom is dark, only lit by the pillar candles burning on the windowsill. It’s plenty to see by and there’s something about the way the light of the flame flickers across her skin that does things to him. 

She’s nervous. Nervous like he hasn't seen in a long time, not since the first time. He pulls his shirt off in one quick move, letting her eyes travel over his chest. Bullet holes, knife wounds - slices and stabs and gouges, that time Gunner shot him with a bow...

He kneels before her. 

“Do you trust me?” Frank asks, and she starts to nod. “Say it.”

“I trust you.” Karen whispers, and he pulls her down to sit on the edge of the bed, easing her shirt up over her head. In the low light, he can see. 

For some scars, it doesn't matter how good of a stitch-up job you had, they’re never going to fade away to nothing. This one tears through Karen’s skin, jagged and twisting, down along her ribcage and hooking over her waist, coming to a stop around her navel. The stitches had been out for some time and it was healing nicely, along with the many other smaller scars criss-crossing their way over her body. 

Once again he marvels at how lucky he is that she's even alive right now. 

She's got her eyes closed. 

“It looks-”

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful, Karen.” He cuts her off, his fingertips tracing over the ravaged skin gently, followed by his mouth. His hands grip her ass and slide her forward, pulling her jeans and panties off all at once. He hooks Karen’s legs over his shoulders, his head dipping down to taste her. One hand pulls her closer, can’t get enough of her, while the other...

“Oh god, Frank!” 

He’s slipping two fingers inside of her to start and she’s tight, _so fucking tight, Jesus Christ how long, how long,_ but she’s wet too. Wet and ready for him, even though she's been fighting it for so long. His tongue delves into her, seeking out her clit and she gasps somewhere above him, knotting the blankets with her fists. 

He's trapped between her thighs and he can feel them tremble and twitch on either side of him. His fingers find the right spot, hooking and driving into her as she starts to buck her hips against his face. It’s a matter of moments before she falls apart, tears glistening on her face as she comes apart under him. 

When she grabs him, hauls him up off the floor and yanks his pants off, he knows he's distracted her from thinking about it. 

When she straddles him, sinking down onto his hard cock with wanton abandon as she rides him, he knows he's done his job right. She buries her flushed face in his shoulder, her hips grinding against him and her teeth and nails sinking into his flesh. She’s close again. 

He flips her over, onto her back amongst the soft pillows and drives his dick into her hard and fast. She laces her fingers through his, gripping him tight. 

“Karen...I...”

“Fuck!” She exclaims, snapping her hips up to meet his, deepening the angle, urging him on, driving him mad. He buries himself inside of her with a growl, exploding, stars in his eyes. She’s falling right behind him, tight and forceful and slow, milking every last little bit she can get out of him as she moves beneath him. For awhile, their mingled breaths are the only sound in the cabin. 

He slides over to one side of her, careful this whole time not to put his full weight on her. She’s still healing, he doesn't want to hurt her. He collapses on the cool bedsheets beside her, and pulls her close, burying his face in her soft skin. 

His lips ghost over her scars, worshiping every wound. 

_“So beautiful, god you’re so beautiful, I love you, I love you, I love you...”_


	20. Playing Possum

Screeching metal and pain were the last things Frank remembered before it went dark. He was awake now, a seat belt clasp digging into the middle of his back, but he schooled his features to remain relaxed - playing possum. 

Don’t tense up, keep your breath steady, don’t move. It was a game Lisa had loved to play - Frank would pretend to be asleep on the couch, like he couldn't hear her creeping up on him, ready to pounce. 

Now he was cuffed in the back of a moving vehicle, but luckily not in the trunk. And how had those assholes gotten the drop on him? The truck he had been driving wasn't even registered to Pete Castiglione. 

That particular mystery would have to wait because he needed to focus. Focus on the zip strips binding his wrists and...They had left his legs free. Seriously?

Frank was now facing a dilemma. He could escape - kick the shit out of the two guys that had t-boned his truck and take off back to the cabin. But he didn’t know if they had already found the cabin, found Karen. Or he could wait it out and go with them. 

Decisions, decisions. 

If they had Karen, he needed to know where they were holding her. Or if they had killed her. If they hadn’t gotten to her, he could still get some answers about this organization. Where they were holed up, how many guys, the works...

They had brought the fight to him and all bets were off now. Karen had promised, after all. The chances were very good that she was still safe out in the woods, especially since these guys seemed to be fucking idiots.

“Do you think he's dead?”

“He’s fuckin’ breathing, ain’t he? He’s not dead.” 

“He looked dead.”

There’s a long-suffering sigh and the crackle of cellophane. 

“You’d look dead too if you just got hit by a fucking van. I guarantee you, he’s not dead. Especially if he is who they say he is.” 

Come on, say something relevant.

They don't offer up any further information, much to Frank’s annoyance. It wasn’t Frank’s smartest plan, letting himself get taken. The few weapons he had were back in the truck or ditched somewhere. He had no guns, no knives, nothing. And he was out of time. Too late to change plans now.

A crunch of gravel and the van pulled into an empty parking lot. While the two men were busy talking he caught a good look at the place they were headed. Big, industrial building - maybe it had been a factory once but it was looking a little worse for the wear and tear on the outside. Armed men guarding the door. Fucking great. 

He keeps his body limp and his eyes shut, letting the men grab him by his upper arms and haul him across the parking lot into the building, his legs dragging behind. 

“Jesus - you found him? He looks dead.”

The man on Frank’s left makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. No shit, pal. Just what kind of fucking morons worked at this place? 

“He’s not dead, he’s _unconscious_.” The condescending tone is hard to miss.

The inside of the building looked much cleaner than the outside. Sterile white hallways, painted concrete. Reinforced doors. Someone had done some interesting renovations on this place. The outside looked innocuous enough, abandoned and slowly turning decrepit. The inside looked like it was meant to hold people. Or hold him. 

“We weren’t expecting you, sir.” The man on his right is hesitant, nervous. Frank keeps his eyes closed, no matter how badly he wants to see just _who_ was anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“I cut my other meeting short for this.”

He keeps up the act, even when they enter a small room and shut the door behind him. 

“You didn't secure his feet?”

“It didn't seem necessary, sir. He’s out cold.” 

There’s a short burst of laughter and footsteps. He feels a pinch at his neck - an injection.

“He was faking, but he’s not now.” 

He's being lifted into a chair. The zip strip is cut off and replaced with handcuffs that clang against the metal chair frame. The drug takes hold and Frank’s pulled under once again. 

“This is the last time they put me on bitch detail, I swear...” The darkness begins to recede, the voice echoing around in his mind... 

The room is a blur, swimming in front of Frank's eyes and the lights are too fucking bright for his liking. 

“Finally woke up? You were out for about a day. Dosed you pretty good, guess they weren't sure how much to hit you with.”

His babysitter is short, but stocky with massive shoulders and a nose that’s been broken as often as Frank's has. Still, even with his build and his broken nose, the guy had to grow a beard to hide his baby face. 

“You thirsty?” 

Frank doesn’t answer. 

The guard picks up a half-empty beer bottle from the floor and tips it to Frank’s mouth. He takes a long swig, he’s betting this will be the last bit of food or drink he gets for awhile. He’s prepared to play their game. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” The guy says before finishing the bottle and smashing it against the wall. The sound is jarring - a scare tactic, meant to rattle him. Frank narrows his eyes.

Silence while they circle each other, motionless. Sizing each other up. 

“Nothing personal here - I’m actually a pretty big admirer of your work - but orders are orders.” The man gives him a cold smile before he drives the glass bottle down into Frank’s thigh and follows it up with several hard, quick punches to the face. 

He draws back, pleased with himself.

“That’s it? That all you got?” He's breathing hard through his mouth, jaw clenched tight. 

“C’mon Frank, we’re having fun. We’re taking it slow, getting to know one another first.” 

“Is that right? Are you gonna kill me or take me to the fuckin’ prom?” Frank sneers, spitting a dollop of blood on the floor.


	21. No Heroics

“I don't care what it takes, Matt!” Karen says angrily into the phone. “He wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren't for us! We have to find him!”

“I will. You know I’m looking. But you’ve got to stay calm. Frank is...Well, he can handle it. He’s not a victim.”

“He can still die, Matt. He’s still human, he can still bleed and hurt and it’s...It's my fault.” 

It’s been a few days. They had a schedule, a routine. He hadn't checked in. After the first checkpoint, she had contacted David and Curtis to see what they knew but he hadn’t been in touch with either of them. David was using his gait recognition software to see if he could track Frank’s last whereabouts but when they had no starting point, it made for slow going. 

Her last ditch effort was Daredevil. 

“I want to help.”

“Karen, that's a bad idea.” He warns her and she’s angry all over again, remembering all the times he’s treated her like she couldn’t take care of herself. 

She paces the length of the small cabin, angrily, anxiously. She runs a pale hand through her blonde hair and takes a deep breath to steady herself.

“Matt, you will get me out of this fucking cabin or so help me god, I’ll...”

She clutches the phone to her ear, ready to snap it in half. 

“Fine.” He concedes, his voice tight. He's pissy and she can tell. She also doesn’t give a damn. “But you’re staying with me and no heroics.”

“Just get here.” She says, making sure she doesn’t make a promise she has no intention of keeping. Matt has the address, he can call a cab, call Foggy, call Elektra. She doesn't give a damn. She just needs to get back into the city so she can find Frank Castle. 

“I’m on my way.”

“Matt...Watch out for the land mines, ok?” 

The main reason she’d called. She actually needed someone with super senses to get her through Frank’s insanely paranoid traps. And man, was she going to have a talk with him about that bullshit. Karen was just grateful the cabin had indoor plumbing.

“You’re joking.”

“I wish.” She all but snarls into the phone.

It’s hours later, night is falling once more and she’s nearly gone crazy with waiting. There’s a short knock at the cabin door and she finds Matt Murdock waiting in a suit with his sunglasses on. He offers her a gentlemanly smile and his arm. 

“Allow me to lead the way, Miss Page.” 

Matt’s careful maneuvering leads them through the woods, over trip wires and animal traps and a few other things he doesn’t mention to Karen.

Foggy’s waiting behind the wheel of Marci’s car when they finally stumble out onto the road, as Karen and Matt help each other climb down the bank to the gravel. It’s the first time Karen's been out in awhile. She hadn't realized how claustrophobic the cabin felt. 

She gives Foggy a hug and slides into the backseat. 

“So I’m the driver for Daredevil now. This is gonna look great on my resume. And we’re on a rescue mission...For The Punisher? I mean no offense Karen, but why do you think Frank Castle actually needs to be rescued?”

“Foggy, it’s been days. I haven't heard from him.”

“Yeah but seriously...Do we actually consider him in danger? I mean, I’m actually more worried about whoever grabbed him right now. They’re probably all dead or will be very soon.”

“Just drive, Foggy. David’s checking the cameras and we’ll go from there.” He backs off the seasonal road and they head back towards the city she hasn't seen in months.

Matt’s apartment is still as bare as she remembered. 

“Do you want a drink or anything? Can I get you something to eat?” Matt asks, only able to hear Karen’s swift footsteps towards the sofa. In under a minute, her laptop is up and he can hear the keys clicking furiously under her fingertips. 

“What’s your Wi-Fi password?” 

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” 

Matt gives her the password and leaves her to her work, quietly making a few calls and following up on a few leads of his own. He knows better than to get in the way of Karen Page when she’s on a mission.

In the end, it’s Karen who tracks down Frank’s truck by checking in with Ellison. The grey truck Frank was driving lately had been abandoned on a backroad, evidently struck by another vehicle. There were no people on site when the police answered the call and no sign of the other car. 

From there, she contacted David and gave him his starting point. Sixteen hours she waited, keeping her phone charged and checking it every so often to see if David had found anything. Patience wasn’t her strong suit. 

It’s a tense silence in Matt’s apartment. If it had been a year ago, she would’ve been nervous and crushing like some silly girl and...

Sometimes, she had to step back and marvel at everything that had changed. 

When David finally got in touch, he gave her a location, followed by blueprints, and an estimate of how many men were inside based on the comings and goings of the last few days. 

None of that mattered to Karen. While Matt was busy suiting up, she was studying the floorplan of the building. She had made her own plans, her promise to Matt be damned. 

When he left, she took out the duffel bag she had brought from the cabin and hurriedly put on the vest she had asked Curtis to get for her a few months back. Back when it wasn’t even a possibility. Back when it was just a better-safe-than-sorry, plan b or x or z kind of thing. 

Matt was going to be pissed. More than pissed, she thought to herself, as she holstered the spare handguns she had brought. Foggy’s car was in the parking garage, on loan if she needed to go anywhere. He probably didn’t think she’d use it for a rescue mission. Foggy was probably the only person that wouldn’t be pissed at her after tonight. 

She took one last, fleeting look at herself in the mirror as she scraped her hair back into a ponytail. Black vest, jeans, boots. She almost didn’t recognize herself in the reflection. On some level, Karen knew she should be afraid. That’s what normal people felt. Maybe it was the adrenaline already coursing through her, but she only felt calm. Determined. She was going to get Frank back, one way or another tonight.


	22. Lady Liberty

It’s been a few days, he thinks. He’s not sure how many, they’ve resorted to the standard mental mindfuck routine of forcing him to stay awake, drugging him with sedatives at other times just to mix up his days and nights. There are no windows, just the same shitty fluorescent lights in his holding room. White walls, concrete, no clocks. A patternless pattern. 

So far, they hadn’t said shit about Karen and they hadn’t been able to get any information out of him. 

Cuffed to a metal chair. Waiting for some asshole to come in and punch him in the face a few more times. He was bored. 

That was until the power went out. Suddenly, things had gotten a lot more interesting.

_It’s now or never, Frank. Might as well give them hell._

“Hey!” He hears the shout. He knows they’re out there, in the hallway. 

“The fuck?” 

“The generator will kick on in a minute. This state has more fuckin’ blackouts, man...”

“Get that shit fixed!” More shouting, louder this time. Frank’s not thinking about that - he tilts back to slip the cuffs off of the legs of the chair, freeing his feet. With a little twisting, he has the chair folded up and held in both hands.

He can almost hear Billy Russo laughing in his ear - at how absolutely fucking ridiculous he looks right now.

“Hey, fuckface!” He yells. Show time.

He can hear one of them sigh. The generator kicks in, power blinking back on.

“Gonna go see what this asshole wants.” 

He can hear them fumbling for the keys.

“Come on! You gonna kill me or what? Quit fucking around!”

“Can you believe this piece of shit?” He hears from the hallway as the guard opens the door. The other guy just laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...You’ll get yours, buddy. Now shut the fuck up!” 

Frank pulls him roughly through the doorway, slamming the folded metal chair down on the man’s head. He straddles the guard, awkwardly bringing the back of the chair down on his neck until it breaks and taking his gun. He fumbles through the dead man's pockets for a key and manages to free one hand from the chair frame.

Worry about it later - one down, how many more to go?

Frank hears gunshots in the hallway and doesn’t have to wonder about it much longer. His hunch had been right - someone was here. He just hoped it wasn't who he thought it was. 

Except it was.

Edging around the corner of the doorway, he uses his chair as makeshift shield and neatly puts a bullet in the head of the guard at the far north end of the hallway and hears the words he’d been dreading.

“Karen, no!" Murdock’s voice, angry as another shot - not Frank’s - rings out in the narrow corridor. 

Matt Murdock, in his fucking Halloween costume, is disarming and knocking out would-be attackers as per usual. Karen Page - why the fuck was she here? He was going to kill Murdock - is firing off rounds, dropping bodies like an expert. She has a vest on, much like his, her hair braided back as she takes down another guard. 

“Karen, get down!" Frank yells, taking out the guy closing in behind her. 

“Frank!" 

More shitheads coming from his end of the hallway. She’s crouched low, making herself small as she moves quickly towards him - keeping herself tight to the wall. They're firing, but mostly at himself and Daredevil and Frank’s doing his best to take them down, even as Red tries to interrupt his shots and disarm the guards. 

Fuck that shit. 

Karen’s beside him and he hauls her back into his holding cell. Without a word, they both begin reloading. Frank pulls his extra clip off the dead guy on the floor. 

“Karen, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Like hell I was gonna sit this one out, Frank!” She’s angry, her blue eyes flashing at him. As much as he hates it, he can’t help but admire her in this moment. She looks...Looks like she’s right in her element, a look that worries Frank as much as it intrigues him. 

“You’ve been gone for days!” She’s bitching at him and he wants to grin at her. “And how about leaving a goddamn map of your traps next time? I had to call Matt to come and get me, you ass!" 

This time he does grin, forgetting all about his battered face and split lip. 

“Oops.”

“Oops?” Karen snarls, incredulously. She was going to kick his ass later.

To be fair, Frank had never expected to get caught. And yet on the other hand, he’s spent a few days berating himself for getting too cocky and letting his guard down. 

When this is all over, he swears he’s going to take her on a real vacation. Someplace nice, beachside, and maybe if he’s real lucky she’ll put on a bikini and he’ll finally get to see how the ocean holds up in comparison next to her and those goddamned eyes...

That’s if they get out of this. 

Frank fires a few more shots around the corner, giving Murdock the needed cover to reach them. 

“What a fuckin’ shitshow this is turning out to be...” Frank grumbles under his breath. A bottleneck. They were going to need to pull a miracle out of their asses and soon. 

“Is the senator here?” Karen asks.

“No, he left after we cut the power.” Matt answers, matter-of-fact. 

“Figures. Piece of shit doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.” Frank says. 

“We’re going to have to get out of here soon. We can't stay.” Karen points out, ever the voice of reason. 

“You two go, I can clear the way.” Murdock says, tightening his grip on his baton. “The power outage would’ve helped, but I didn’t count on them having a generator.”

“No ulterior motives there, eh Red?” Frank snorts. Of all the times to be uppity about killing bad guys. 

“This is my fight, Castle. Not yours.” Matt says, his voice tight. He nods toward Karen. “Get her out of here.” 

“There was no scenario that could’ve played out here tonight where everyone got to go home afterwards Murdock, and you know it.” 

“The point is to at least try. Those men are just doing the job they were hired to do.” Matt says angrily, taking a step towards Frank.

“Yep. And they've done a lot worse for a lot less. We’re doing the city a favor.” Frank shoots back, not giving up any ground.

“We do not have time for a pissing contest!” Karen interrupts, pushing them away from each other. “Now shut up and get back!” 

They’re both startled into silence by this but Karen’s ignoring them at this point. She’s come prepared with supplies from Frank’s bug out bag. Clutched in her hand is a grenade, pin pulled, and she launches it out the door and down the hallway as hard as she can throw it. 

“Karen, what the fuck...?” Frank doesn’t get time to finish the question.

She covers her ears and crouches against the far wall as the blast shakes the building. These damn explosives were going to give her tinnitus, if they hadn’t already. 

The lights are out, wiring damaged in the blast. It’s all smoke and darkness but she’s brought a flashlight. With one hand grenade, Karen Page has cleared the way for their escape. 

Murdock doesn’t speak. He’s out the door and gone the moment they’ve recovered enough to get their bearings. She knows he’s angry. She wishes she could care right now, but she doesn’t. She's not the same Karen Page from a year ago. 

“Come on.” She says, taking Frank’s hand. The entire building is like a shitty maze of off white concrete walls but she remembers the way out. Her flashlight beam dances off the walls and floors, occasionally catching macabre glimpses of bloodied corpses. 

It’s when they’re outside of the building that she notices the sound of clanging metal as they run. 

“Are you seriously still cuffed to a chair?” 

“I was a little too busy to look for a key, Page.” He’s grinning at her, blood trickling down the side of his face. 

“Maybe we should keep it. For later...” She jokes but he’s already smashing the chair against the wall at the joint, breaking it and slipping the metal rod out of the other cuff. 

Frank laughs and it breaks through the tension of the whole night. Karen’s not thinking about Matt Murdock, or her own lack of morals anymore. 

“I have a car parked nearby. Matt thought he was coming here without me.” She says, smiling triumphantly. She doesn’t mention that it’s Foggy’s car and that he wasn't really aware that she borrowed it. 

“Why did you...?” He doesn’t know where to begin so he makes a vague gesture, from her boots to her vest to the guns and the grenades. What the hell was she thinking?

“They brought the fight to us. That means we do it your way - we agreed, remember?”

“Jesus Christ, woman.” It’s all Frank can say. He wants to yell at her, wants to make her understand how reckless she had been, how close to death she could've come. He also wants to kiss her. 

Frank slides into the passenger seat. His eyes are swollen and he’s thinking he could do with a nap - face pressed nicely against the cold glass of the window - but Karen pushes a foil wrapped package into his hands. 

“Brought you a sandwich.” Karen says, tapping a thermos in the cupholder. “And some coffee.” 

“I fucking love you.” Frank declares, tearing into the first meal he’s had in days. “Goddamn, I’m tired.” 

“Guess the kinky stuff will have to wait...” She mutters under her breath, flipping on her highbeams as they hit the country road. 

“I still got the cuffs, sweetheart.” Frank says, jingling the metal around his wrist. “Don’t you worry.”


	23. A Parting of Ways

Foggy had his car back, Karen Page and The Punisher had retreated back to their hijacked cabin, and Matt Murdock...

Once Karen’s story broke, the investigation began. Congressmen had been arrested, other wealthy elites of New York were under the spotlight for their involvement and Senator Carnahan had decided he would rather eat a bullet than go to prison. 

Matt had only been in touch with Karen once since it had all come out, the night after it happened. Frank was sprawled out on the pull-out couch, sleeping off the last few days. He had been up earlier, cracking jokes with Foggy over a beer while Marci was working late at the office on another high-profile case. 

Karen had stepped outside for some fresh air, taking a seat on the steps of the building’s entrance. Sometimes she had to take a moment, because reconciling the Frank Castle of the present with the frightening man she had first met could be a little overwhelming. She still couldn’t believe how far they had come. How different they both were.

“Karen.” 

Matt Murdock had chosen that moment to round the corner, looking a little worse for the wear but more than that, he was agitated. Karen squared her shoulders, she knew where this was headed. 

“I won’t ask for your help again.” He says, as if he thinks that will somehow shame her for what happened. She's tired of the passive-aggressive games Matt plays. “But I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m not sorry for what I did, Matt. It was them or us.” 

“They didn’t all have to die, Karen!” He whispers emphatically, “Don’t you see what you’re becoming? The choices you’re making?” 

“So if it was Foggy or Elektra that had been in Frank’s place, you would’ve risked them dying rather than kill their captors?”

“Frank was never going to die, Karen.” 

“Nice dodge, counselor.” She says, sarcastically. “Any one of us could die, Matt. At any moment. I’m not willing to play games with the people I love. I can't just roll the dice and pray for a happy ending like you do. I had the ability to take matters into my own hands, and I did. And I’d do it again. I’d do it for the people I love, in a heart beat.” 

Karen runs a hand through her hair, shaky and exhausted. Matt can tell just by her exhale. If he could see, he’d notice how pale and drawn she looks. Dark circles rimming her eyes and a weariness that has touched her soul. 

“Of course it weighs on me that I’ve killed people. Of course I didn't want to do it, Matt. But they weren’t innocent people, and they were only too happy to try to kill us first. If it was you or Foggy, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“You really think I would let someone I love die? Do you think I would let you die?” He asks, more softly. Matt’s memories are back at a different set of steps, on a different night. He can’t believe they’ve reached this point. He can’t believe this is the same Karen Page he had fallen for. 

“I can’t trust you to have my back, Matt. Neither can anyone else, for that matter.” Karen says softly, finally getting to the truth of it. He was right, they wouldn't work together again. “The difference is I can take care of myself.” 

“This isn't you, Karen.” It was a half-hearted last ditch effort on his part. Matt wasn’t even trying anymore. He was always so quick to forgive when it came to Elektra’s multitude of sins, but Matt Murdock had always had some false image of Karen Page built up in his head that was synonymous with purity and he refused to let it go, even when the truth had repeatedly slapped him in the face. “When did you change?”

She doesn’t know. Maybe it was that first time, when she killed Fisk’s lackey to save herself. Maybe it was when she helped Grotto escape that hospital, Frank firing shots at them. She had thought for sure she was going to die that night. And then later, her whole world turning upside down when he told her he never would've hit her. Maybe it was all the things that had happened after - Reyes and the trial, the shooter at the apartment, the restaurant, the Blacksmith, the Hand, the Black Sky, and finally, that kid who blew himself up right in front of her. 

A neverending downward spiral of shit that had just kept coming at her and somewhere in the middle of it all, Frank Castle had woven himself seamlessly into her life, but he still hadn’t been the one that changed her. He mirrored her, reflecting her darkness back at her but Karen Page had started changing long before she met The Punisher.

She wondered if it was the city itself that changed her, dark tendrils taking hold of her and making her harder, crueler. 

Karen doesn’t tell Matt any of this. She doesn’t know how, wouldn't know where to begin. It’s a moot point anyway, it wouldn't make a difference now. They couldn’t go back and his view of her had been forever altered. Her view of him had been forever altered. It was finally over. 

“Maybe this is who I've always been.” 

“Karen...”

“Goodbye, Matt.” Karen says, getting to her feet. She presses a kiss to his cheek and gets the key card out of her jeans pocket. 

“Goodbye, Miss Page.” His tone is regretful, tender and sad. Like he's just lost something that meant a lot to him. What Matt didn’t realize was that she had been lost for awhile now. She doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s better this way. That together, they don’t know how to have an honest friendship. That somewhere it got lost, she got lost, in all the lies and hypocrisy. 

Karen smiles briefly at the old familiarity, and swipes the card. The door beeps and swings open. She doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that he’s gone. He didn't even bother to use his cane. 

Upstairs, Frank is waiting for her. Together, they’ve always been honest with one another. They’ve hurt each other, fucked each other up, but they’ve come a long way and they’ve changed each other throughout all of it - maybe for the better. That’s not what matters to Karen, though. What matters is that he doesn’t ask her to be someone she is not. 

Foggy’s apartment is dark, he and Marcy have long gone to bed. Frank’s stretched out on the pull-out sofa, watching the news on mute. One of those weird quirks of his that drives her crazy. A lamp on the end table is the only other source of light in the living room.

She asked him about it once but he just shrugged and told her that he could tell what they were saying by the expressions.

The ice pack lies abandoned on the arm of the couch and she re-wraps it and presses it to Frank’s face, dropping a kiss on his forehead. 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Shit that’s cold!”

Karen laughs and pulls his hand up to hold the pack to his face.

“Maybe you should've just played damsel, Frank.”

“Not gonna let me live that one down, are you?

“Hell no. You need to keep that on your face.” 

He snorts. Frank honestly couldn’t care less, his face has been bashed in so many times that it just feels like a typical Tuesday to him. She flops down on the couch beside him and he winds his free hand through hers. It’s second nature now. 

“Matt stopped by.” Karen says. She doesn't want to talk about it but the words are coming before she can stop them, telling Frank about the conversation. In a way she’s relieved, it’s almost like this was always meant to happen. They had tried to rebuild their friendship but there was no salvaging this - they had become too different. Or maybe too similar, but she was done running from herself. 

Frank offers no reply to this, knows she doesn't want that. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s listening. Well, that wasn’t entirely true - he was good at a few things, listening was maybe his third best skill, after fighting and fucking. 

Not necessarily in that order though.


	24. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the crazy long delays between chapter updates, I know there's a few of you who have been following this along faithfully and it is almost done it's just a matter of finding time to proofread and get it all posted. Anyway, my most heartfelt thanks to all the commenters and the readers who have left kudos, you guys remind me that I have to get this finished. I never expected this much support for a cobbled together piece of drama written in the dead of winter.

Frank tipped his head back and took a swig of the cold beer Sarah had handed him, his eyes never leaving the woman across the room.

Karen sat at the table, playing a board game with Zach and Leo. Frank never ceased to be amazed at the shit kids had nowadays. Sure, it was a board game. But it had literally taken them an hour to set up the damn thing and it had so many parts, pieces and rules he had begged off playing. They had already been playing for two hours and Karen looked pretty hooked on it. 

“Arkham Horror.” David supplied helpfully from his seat next to Frank. “They can't get enough of that Lovecraft shit and Sarah and I hate playing it with them.”

“They’ve been at it for hours, it’s like watching golf.” Frank said, taking another long draught of his beer. Dinner had finished up and dessert had been handed out and none of that had taken as long as this board game. 

“It goes on and on...” David said.

“And always ends horribly.” Sarah added. “Either you unleash the evil monster that will destroy the world, or your whole party goes insane, or you all die. Basically, everyone dies in the end and there’s no point playing because no one ever wins.” 

“That’s because you and Dad suck at it.” Zach says snarkily and Frank can’t hide his grin. 

“Excuse you, young man!” Sarah says, giving him a good natured scowl. 

“You let your own kid bust your balls like that, Lieberman?” 

David laughs, taking a sip of his beer.

“When he's right, he’s right. It’s actually sad, a computer hacker should be good at gaming.” 

Frank’s listening, a smirk on his face as finishes his beer but his attention is on Karen. She’s laughing, carefree and it’s one of those rare moments where she’s completely in her element - she’s not nervous or fidgeting, she's not thinking about work, or worrying about what piece of shit's coming after them next. Just her and Lieberman’s kids, enjoying a board game. 

Did she ever want kids? Frank hadn't ever thought to ask. Because until now, it hadn’t really crossed his mind. 

It was a hard question to think about. A million emotions Frank wasn’t equipped to handle started to build in his chest. Betrayal, hope, fear, shame, wonder, desire, love, need, doubt, pain...

He tried to shut down that train of thought It had no place in the here and now. 

Best leave it for darker nights, Frankie. Lonelier nights. 

She loved him, he _knew_ that. He fucking knew it. Knew it in the way she looked at him, in the way she would touch him whether he was soaked in blood or not. In the way her lips felt against his. 

Guys like him didn't get second chances, did they? What was he going to do, propose and give her the big fancy white wedding she probably dreamed about? 

(He scoffed at that, he knew better.)

And what about children? Yeah Frank, get your first kids killed and it’s no big deal, no big deal man, you can just make more. You sick fuck, Frank. You sick fuck, how could you do that to Lisa and Frank Jr.?

And he knew, without a doubt, that he didn't feel that way. That it wasn’t like that. But he was The Punisher and he made sure he took the worst of what he served up. Nobody was better at self-loathing than Frank. 

He’s on the porch in the night air and he doesn't remember stepping out. He’s taking drags off a cigarette and he doesn't remember where he got the pack from. It’s been years since he had a cigarette. He had quit when Maria got pregnant. 

You can play hard ass and pretend like being overseas doesn’t affect you. On some level, no matter how fucking cold you are, it does. It gets inside your soul and twists you in a way that you can’t put your finger on, and can’t fix. Frank had started smoking during his first tour. Long drags, finish them quick. A pack a day, maybe more. Billy joked that he’d be the only guy to die of lung cancer in the midde of a war zone. 

“Frank?” Karen. He stubs out the cigarette against the thick sole of his boot and flicks it into the ashtray on the porch rail. Must be David’s cigarettes. Or Sarah's. Probably Sarah’s. 

“Are you all right? David and Sarah are putting the kids to bed and I thought we should head home...” 

She can tell. She always knows when something is off. It’s just another one of _those things_ , ways that Frank knows she loves him. 

“I’m good. Just thinking. Let’s say goodnight and get you to bed.” He says, his hand sliding into hers as he leads her back into the house. 

Behind him, he can hear the small sigh escape her lips. 

The car ride is silent. Not awkward, just silent and heavy. They’re comfortable together, even when he’s brooding. She slips a hand into his across the seat and gives it a small squeeze. She's waiting. 

“Do you ever think that maybe you should be with someone who can make you happy?” 

In the darkness, her head rests on his chest. She almost missed the question from the pounding of his heartbeat in her ears. 

They come back to this topic a lot. She sighs and settles in for yet another debate on the topic. They were fewer and far between nowadays, but Frank’s guilt would still rear it’s ugly head on occasion. 

Time to slay that dragon again, Page. Mentally, she geared up - preparing for battle. Who knew what he’d throw at her this time?

“Why do you assume that I’m not already with someone who makes me happy?” She says carefully, countering his first strike.

“You know what I mean, Page. _Happy_...Fairytale wedding, kids, the house with the white picket fence. The works.” 

“It’s not a magic formula, Frank. A plus B doesn’t always equal C, or in this case, happiness. I came to Hell’s Kitchen to get away from that.” And nobody knows that better than her.

She hasn’t moved, her fingers drawing lazy circles up and down over his ribcage even though her mind is whirling, calculating his next moves and planning her defense strategy. 

“C’mon, I saw you tonight. You loved being with those kids, playing with them. You deserve something like that.” 

“We’ve never talked about kids before, Frank. Why is this an issue now?”

“Because I want...” He's stumbling over the words because he doesn’t know what he wants, or how to say it, or how to begin to approach this topic, or heal not-very-old wounds. “I want the best for you.” 

“I happen to think that’s you.” 

She never wavers, never hesitates. There’s never a doubt. He wishes he was as sure about himself as she is. He wishes he had that kind of faith in himself. 

The conversation is stalled, Frank doesn't have a response and a slow, victorious grin spreads across her face. Matt had been right, Karen should've gone to law school. 

“And what about a family?” Round two.

Karen lets out a sigh, trying to find the right words. 

“They always say that people who grow up with an abusive parent come out one of two ways - they either want kids so that they can prove they’re not the same as the parent that mistreated them, or they don't want kids because they never want to expose a child to that same environment they lived in.” Karen stops herself there, thinking how best to explain her conflicted feelings on the subject. It’s not something she had ever had to worry about with past boyfriends - the topic never came up. No one had ever stuck around as long as Frank had. 

“Having children wasn’t something I ever saw happening for myself. Just couldn't picture it, you know? I like them, they’re a lot of fun, but it’s never been something I thought about. And in a lot of ways, I’m always relieved to pass them back to their parents at the end of the day.” 

He can feel her smiling against his skin in the dark.

“Real maternal, huh?”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips and he lets out a small sigh before he gets poked in the ribs.

“So, what brought this on? And is this why you’ve been so quiet all night?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Frank says, scrubbing a rough hand over his face. “I just...I saw you there tonight, and I wanted that for you. I worry that I won't be able to give you the things that you want. I miss my kids every damn day, but I know I coulda been a better father. If anything happened, I’d be there - not because I had to, but because I love you. I mean that, I love you. But I thought about a kid and...”

“You felt like you were betraying their memory?” She guesses. She knows it’s hard for him to talk about. She knows he’ll find a way to get the words out though. He was always like that with her. 

“Something like that.” She can feel his arm drop in frustration back down to the bed. He doesn't want to tell her that it had nearly been a full-blown panic attack over the idea of it. “I don't want you to wake up one day, full of regret because you tied yourself to a piece of shit like me. I don't even know what I want anymore. It hurt, thinking about them but then I thought about a little girl like you and...”

His thoughts drift back to earlier that night when he was on the Lieberman’s porch thinking about holding a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes just like Karen’s. A little girl who would presumably have him wrapped around her little finger. 

And then he thinks about the last time he held Lisa, what was left of her. 

Frank was a dangerous man, who lived a dangerous life. The thought of losing another daughter, even a hypothetical daughter who didn’t exist...Or a son...Or a wife....

He wouldn't survive that again. 

She’s moving, pulling herself up towards him, her hands on either side of his head.

“You know I don't care about any of that right? I don't need some fairytale wedding, or a house out of Better Homes and Gardens, or children. I just need you. Just as you are.” She says, her lips finding his. 

“You sure you don't want Pete Castiglione and his man bun?” He says lightly. She banishes the nightmares and every month, every year, it gets a little easier to bear. He wishes he could explain that to her. 

“On second thought...” 

“That hurts, Page.”

She’s laughing at him now. She had made it clear early on she wasn’t a fan of his hipster look. 

“You know whatever happens, we’ll deal with it right?” She asks, running a hand through his hair. “Together. And if you change your mind and I change my mind, well...We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But trust me when I say, I have no desire to have a kid right now. I’ve got deadlines coming up and there’s no way I’m giving up scotch for nine months, Frank.” 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Jessica Jones.” 

“Would you believe me if I said it was just Ellison’s influence?” 

“Good. He can pay for the rehab.”

When dawn hits, Frank’s eyes are still open. A long night with a lot to think about, Karen had fallen asleep not long after their conversation. Now she was fitted snugly against him, her back pressed to his chest, blanket barely covering her. She always complained that sleeping next to him was like hugging a furnace, but somehow in her sleep she always found her way across the bed to him. 

He twists a strand of her blonde hair through his fingers, silky and perfumed. It soaked into her pillowcase and though he never admitted it to her, he loved that he could still smell it even when she wasn’t in bed with him. 

She didn’t want children right now. Maybe not ever. It should’ve consoled him, should’ve been a huge weight off his chest. Hell, it was a huge weight off his chest. He didn’t know if he could give that to her. 

What had clawed at Frank’s mind all night was the worry. What if he changed his mind and wanted another child? What if he didn’t but she did? What if she didn’t and he did? What if...What if he couldn't protect them? He had made enemies in the military, and he had made even more since his family was murdered. Frank could count his friends on one hand. 

What if he died? Any future kid of his could grow up never knowing him. 

What if she was just saying she didn't want a kid to placate him? 

_No. Jesus Christ, Castle. Get ahold of yourself._ She would never lie to him like that. He knew better. He was also annoying the fuck out of himself.

“You’re grinding your teeth.” She said softly, rolling over to face him in their bed. “You look like hell. Didn't you sleep?”

Frank unclenched his jaw, immediately feeling the soreness he hadn’t noticed. How long had he been doing that? 

He leans in to kiss her forehead, stubble scratching her skin. 

“I slept fine.”

“You let yourself sit and spin over the kid thing all night, didn't you?” 

That's what he loved about Karen Page - she always called him out on all of his bullshit.

Still, he had to at least try to save face here.

“Nope.” 

“Liar.” She smiles at him. “You're worrying over nothing. It’s a non-issue.” 

“And how do you know what I’m worrying about?” Frank teases her, unable to help the smirk forming across his face as she gets out of bed. She always slept nude and Frank made it a point to wake up early so he could watch her get ready for work. 

“Ugh, don't ever let me drink that much again.” She groans as she flips the bathroom light on to get some aspirin. “And because I know you. I told you I don't want a kid right now and you're probably worried that I’m going to get knocked up in the next five minutes and you won't have made a decision.”

“Oh yeah? And what if that’s not it?” He’s scowling at her now, but he doesn't mean it. He’s just tired and pissy. He also patently ignores the five minutes comment, she knows damn well that he always did better than five minutes.

“Then you either think something bad will happen and you won’t be able to fix it, or you think I’m lying about not wanting a kid just to make you feel better.” 

She pokes her head out of the doorway with her toothbrush in hand. “Does that about cover it?”

“How d’you figure?” Frank’s not going to admit to spending a night fretting and worrying over shit that hadn’t even happened yet. 

“Read it in your diary. You shouldn’t keep it under your pillow like that.” She says with a smirk and tosses him the bottle of aspirin. He needed it more than she did.

She had quite the mouth on her, his woman.


	25. Maine

“What started you down this path? When did you decide you wanted to get involved with this project?”

“Have you ever been homeless, Ms. Page? Ever faced the city after dark and thought, where am I going to sleep tonight? A park bench, a doorstep? When it’s cold and winter is coming, there’s no one who will help you. And there are people who can’t get help because of their arrest history, because of illness - physical and mental, because they just couldn't sing for their supper.” 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was that of Karen’s pen scratching hurriedly across the pages of her steno pad. The Maine afternoon sun is starting to dwindle and her hand aches from writing, but she’s never been so glad she picked up shorthand.

“What do you mean by that, ‘sing for their supper’?”

“There are requirements to be met for housing and assistance of any kind, job searches, apartment searches, application processes. Long waiting lists and huge funding cuts don't help matters either. There are people being punished because mentally and physically, they aren’t up to the task to jump through these hoops just for a few nights stay in a bed bug infested motel or shelter. Those are the people we want to help.” 

Wow...

“Can I quote you directly on that?”

“Absolutely.”

Karen’s fumbling, flipping through her notes. She should have expected this woman to be on point, aware of the situation in the city.

“Have you ever been homeless?” Karen turns the question back to her.

“I have. It was the single most frightening experience of my life. I wasn't worried about myself, but I was single mother. I was so afraid I was going to have my child taken from me.” 

Congresswoman Diane Hamilton was formidable to be sure, but her eyes spoke volumes and conveyed a warmth Karen had found lacking in many of the politicians she had met. 

“Anyway, that's a story for another time. Let's pick this up tomorrow, shall we?” 

Karen knows the topic is now closed and she’s not going to push her luck, especially not when she’s just been invited back for a second interview.

Karen accepted the woman’s outstretched hand and shook it firmly, unable to hide her smile. They had spent the better part of two hours outlining the Representative’s plan to create a coordinated homeless outreach movement - the shelters were just the start of it. Karen was impressed, to say the least.

“Thank you for your time. I can’t wait to hear more about the proposal.” Karen adjusts her purse strap on her shoulder and tucks her notepad and pen inside. Her car is parked outside. 

Diane Hamilton was notoriously difficult to interview but Karen had been determined. The congresswoman had finally agreed, saying she was available for the next two weeks at her vacation home on the coast of Maine. Karen Page didn't back down, she smiled and thought _‘challenge accepted’_. 

“I did not expect you to follow me to Maine for this interview, it’s quite an unpopular topic.” 

Karen doesn’t miss the trace of bitterness in her tone. She was right, it was an unpopular topic. Especially amongst the upper class of New York and their pet paper-pushers.

“I’d like to help change that, if I could. I admire what you’re trying to do - it’s inspiring.”

Her story had started coming in bits and pieces, not fully fleshed out yet. She wanted a call to arms, a show of solidarity, of community. She wanted to inspire empathy in a city that was sorely lacking. She wanted to change tack, steer herself in a different direction - she was tired of exposing the darkness and rot in New York, she wanted to shed a little light on the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.

Hamilton gives her a smile and leads her to the foyer. Karen tucks her coat over her arm. The old house was majestic, with custom murals painted on the walls and a beautiful antique blue and white theme throughout. It wasn’t overly flashy by any means, but filled with an understated elegance that spoke volumes about the quiet lives that had lived there. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Page. Same time?” 

Karen nods and thanks her again before taking her leave, and begins the drive through the other side of town to the seaside cottage that Frank - sorry, _Pete Castiglione_ \- had rented for them. The sun is sinking low and the sky is beautiful, a sunset like she hasn’t seen since she left her family home.

The town she passes through is beautiful, the boats floating silently on the water as her road winds away from the harbor. The bypass leading out of town takes her past the antiques shops and wineries into a mix of forest on one side and water on the other.

The cottage, when she pulls the car up the gravel drive, is a small slate grey house. It’s quaint, old and new with comfortable overstuffed couches, modern appliances and a spiral staircase to the second floor bedroom. 

The lights are on and the front door is open to catch the evening breeze. Inside, she knows Frank will have the back door open leading to the porch that looks out over the water. Karen loves to watch the sailboats in the evening.

Frank’s in the small kitchen, popping open a bottle of beer. He slides it across the table to her and she raises her bottle to him before drinking. She takes a seat at one of the barstools while he gets another from the fridge. 

“Wasn’t expecting you back so soon.” 

“Only because you thought she'd have me arrested.”

“You got me there.” Frank smirks and hands her a takeout carton. City habits die hard. 

Karen stretches her legs, her pumps sliding off her heels and hitting the floor with a thump. She lets her hair down, shaking it out over her shoulders. Much better.

“So, would you break me out of jail?”

“Shit, no. I’m on vacation.” 

A burst of laughter and she's throwing fried pork at him across the table. She doesn’t say it, but she loves to see Frank laugh. It changes his whole face. 

“So you don’t mind that I practically threw you in the car for a spur of the moment trip?” Karen asks. She had even packed his bags for him. She had shoved them in the trunk of her car, ready and waiting for the moment he got back from his session with Curtis. 

“The only thing surprising is that you aren't in county lock-up for the rest of the week, Ms. Page. Stalking is a pretty serious offense.” 

She raises an eyebrow at the prim look he’s attempting to pull off.

“Tell that to my fire escape.” She mutters under her breath when his back is turned. He drops his carton and chopsticks in the trash and turns to face her.

“You say somethin’?”

“Nope.” Karen answers, giving him an oh-so-innocent smile.


	26. Under the Stars

The colorful sails billow gently above her in the night breeze. Karen lays sprawled out on the deck of the rental boat, Frank beside her with his long legs propped up on one of the built in seats. 

She doesn’t care that her sundress has been riding up her thighs for the past twenty minutes, doesn’t care that it’s a little too windy to wear sundresses anyway. It’s just the two of them, in a boat floating on the moonlit water. 

Frank’s breathing is slow and steady beside her, he’s watching the stars just as intently as she is. The only time they’ve moved is to fetch the life jackets to use as pillows. 

Karen’s interview is wrapping up, most of her article complete. She doesn’t say it, but she’s almost done and soon it will be time to leave. After all the unpleasantness back in the city with Matt, and all the things that have happened to her...Karen has forgotten what peace could look like. 

Frank has forgotten too. Forgotten what it feels like not to be hunting, hunted. Not always hiding his face, on the run. Not always roughing up some piece of shit in an alley in the middle of the night.

“I could live out here.” Frank comments. “Almost a shame we have to leave.”

“I never thought I would like being so close to the water, but this is nice. Better than the Hudson.” Karen laughs. 

“Do you ever think about leaving?” He never understood why a girl like her had ran to a shithole like Hell’s Kitchen to begin with.

“Sometimes. It used to be because I was so scared all the time. But now...” Karen’s hands wave in the air above her, trying to capture the right words. 

“Now?”

“Now I just get so damn _tired_ of it all. It’s like one major catastrophe right after another and it never seems to stop. Sometimes I think New York is like Sodom and Gomorrah. God is passing judgement, sending divine wrath down on us.” She laughs a little, she’s bitter and half joking but Frank gets it. 

Sometimes it really does feel like the city is damned. So many close calls lately...He hopes that they’ll be far away before the hellfire and brimstone began raining down. They, not just her. Because Frank knows he’ll happily follow her anywhere. 

His hand finds hers in the dark and he twines his fingers through hers. 

Frank's used to fighting, used to being in the middle of a war zone. He became so used to his new normal, he never stopped to consider that Karen was right in the center of the battlefield with him. 

She had gotten used to it, too. And it was exhausting. Always running, always fighting, always surviving. Becoming numb to the brutality and horror playing out around them. 

Was that how he wanted to keep living? Was that what she wanted?

“Do _you_ ever think about leaving?” She asks.

“Yeah...I do.” 

These are the words that catch in her heart and stick in her mind and the wheels begin turning for Karen Page. A new mission. A new story to chase.

What would Frank Castle _be_...away from the city? Who would she be? 

Karen closes her eyes thinks about a place where just the two of them could just simply exist. 

Was that what peace looked like?

Her fingertips trace the familiar curve of his wrist, her thumb tracing across the hollow. She weaves her hand through his, and his mind races. 

_Delicate hands for a killer, Frankie_. And it's Billy talking to him through the years, always joking about his slender wrists and hands. These were the hands that had mangled and destroyed Billy beyond all recognition, so the joke was on him. 

But could he be capable of anything else? Even when he had a family he had spent more time running off to war. Was it fear? The unknown? Anything could've happened - any number of mundane bullshit that happens every single day in everyone else’s lives. 

Maria could’ve left him, decided he was a shit father and an even worse husband and just...bailed. She could've taken the kids and he might never have seen them, except maybe once every other week. Courtroom and custody battles and who knows - maybe, if the impossible hadn't happened, that particular scenario would have. It was another, more realistic nightmare that had played out in his mind many a night. Somehow it seemed even more real to him that what had really happened. 

It was precarious with Maria. Not when they first met, exactly - though Frank couldn’t deny, there had always been a darkness just underneath the surface of himself. He had fought for control against his darker nature for a long time. 

But he hadn’t been the man Maria married even before she died. He was afraid she'd see it and run. So he ran first. It was never intentional, he always meant to come back - once he got it out of his system. It was his shit luck that once he decided to get out of the business, it came knocking at his front door.

Now there was just the realization that in the city, he could spend the rest of his life chasing down monsters. More and more he looked to the quiet moments with Karen. 

Karen, who didn’t run from his darkness. Karen, who wasn't scared of the silence. Frank was finding he wasn't so scared of the silence anymore, either. Not when silence was the sound of heart beats and soft sighs.

_The silence when the gunfire ends - and how do you live in that?_

Frank thought it might be almost...simple. 

The weight of the Punisher was starting to fall away from him, the bloodstained and battered vest slipping off his shoulders with more and more ease.


	27. Epilogue

The keys are shaking in her hands as she steps out onto the curb and gazes up at the house in front of her. The dark blue Victorian was stately and the white trim gave sharp relief to the antique stained glass set into the sash windows. 

It’s as beautiful as the first day Karen saw it but she’s nervous, _very nervous_ , because she bought it and it's hers - oh, it’s _theirs_ \- and to be completely honest...

To be perfectly blunt...

She didn’t tell Frank she was buying this house. It had been a snap decision and while she had made the purchase with the intent of them sharing the house, she never wanted Frank to feel trapped. She understood the man, and she understood that he may never feel as though his family had been avenged. She was taking a risk, putting it all on the line, and she knew that it could all come crashing to a final end - but this was going to be her home from now on, no matter what Frank decided.

Karen laughs to herself, a small panicked sound lost in the fierce upstate New York wind. It's a small city, quiet and in the middle of nowhere, about three hours from New York City. It’s exactly what they needed, what _she_ needed. 

She had texted the address to Frank and told him to meet her there. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Her stomach was in knots but her heels clicked confidently up the smooth sidewalk and wrap-around porch to the front door. Hardwood floors and high ceilings greeted her. She turns the lights on and drops her purse and coat on the table in the hallway entrance. 

The furniture is draped with sheets. Karen pulls the sheets off of the sofas and tables one by one, working her way through first one room, then another. Piles of cream linen litter the first floor by the time she hears a soft knock and the click of the front door opening.

“Karen?” 

“In here.” She calls. She’s almost come full circle on the main floor. She’s always loved how Victorians seem to wind back around on themselves. There’s a never-ending feeling to the house, it’s a place she could easily get lost in. 

"What do you think?" She asks, catching sight of him. He's taking in the place, nodding to himself. He approves and secretly, she's thrilled. 

“Is this for a story?” 

“Um...Sort of, not exactly.”

Frank cocks an eyebrow at her, an amused smile lighting up his face. He hasn’t seen her so flustered in awhile. He plays along.

“So what’s the story then, Page? What’s your angle?” 

She can feel the blush creeping up her neck and face. 

“The story is a reporter with a knack for getting into trouble and her vigilante boyfriend buy a house in upstate New York and live there together.” 

“Sounds like the start of a bad joke. A vigilante and a reporter walk into a Victorian...”

Her stomach drops. Does he mean...

“I bought it.” She blurts.

“I know.” He says. 

There’s a pause between them while she sizes him up, her eyes narrowing. 

“How?” 

“Where to start...You added a pretty sizable loan to your account, all the private phone calls, the paperwork you didn't hide very well, your internet browser you kept leaving open...”

“Okay, okay! I just wanted it to be a surprise...”

Frank grins at her, licking his lips. How could she possibly think he wouldn’t notice how anxious and distracted she had been the past several weeks?

“A Victorian, though? Really, Page?” 

“Yes, _Castle_. I’m tired of hiding out in the Unabomber’s shack.”

“Speaking of which, did you consider how easy it would be to find a house purchased by Karen Page?” 

“That’s why it’s in Karen Castiglione’s name.” 

“Old Pete got married, did he?” 

“I...I didn't - well...” Oh shit. Had she overstepped? They hadn’t exactly discussed marriage in this light before...

Only in the past, only in arguments. Only when he was at his worst, when he thought she was better off without him...

“Pete Castiglione would be pretty lucky to have you as a wife.”

Suddenly her mouth is dry and her eyes dart around the room. Karen’s finding it difficult to meet his gaze right now. 

“I figured it was probably the last thing on Pete’s mind.” She says softly, still trying to keep things light between them. She’s always careful to avoid bringing it up, not to overstep, not to hurt him...

“You might be right about that.” He answers and it’s like she’s been doused with ice water. 

It’s a knife in the gut, but she knew. She knew he wasn’t looking for that. 

Frank takes a step forward into the room. He still hasn’t looked away, though Karen’s staring hard at the floor. If she’s not careful, she might burn a hole through the wood.

“But it’s definitely been on Frank Castle’s mind.” 

“You...You want to get married?” 

All banter and jokes have stopped. She’s looking at him again, _really_ looking. Her heart is right there in those pale blue eyes and now it’s _his_ heart hammering in his chest, _his_ mouth run dry.

“Matter of fact, yeah I do. You’re my after, Karen. I want a life with you.”

“I’m going to keep writing. Keep getting into trouble.” She says softly, doubt coloring her voice.

“And I’m still going to be me, with all the shit that entails. I can’t promise there won’t be any danger, but I want to stop running. You’re my home. Let’s make this our home.” 

He sweeps her into a long kiss, the first of many in their new home, their new life. 

The neighbors had no idea what they were in for.


End file.
